by Diana Tyler
Chloe stepped to Orpheus’s side and smiled at the woman, trying not to think about how disheveled she looked.
“What is your name, young lady?” the woman asked in perfect Petrodian. She sank a hand into a pouch she was carrying, and scattered seed and fruit slices onto the ground. The small menagerie gathered around the food and grazed happily, not fighting one another or snarling as most animals would.
“Uh, Chloe, madam,” she said, eyes fixed on a sleek, shorthaired hunting dog munching on an apple. “I didn’t know dogs liked fruit.”
The woman knelt down and stroked the dog’s back. “These dogs are special. And very well behaved.” She stood up, snapped her fingers, and pointed at Chloe. “Theron, go and greet our guests.”
Theron swallowed his food and walked toward Chloe and Orpheus, his head drooping and his tail between his legs. Chloe bent over and scratched behind the dog’s ears. He looked healthy enough. Why did he seem so sad?
Orpheus chuckled, and she looked up to see that a lime-green parakeet had landed on his shoulder. It began to squawk, and Orpheus whistled along to its animated tune.
“That is Erato,” the woman said. “She fancies herself a muse.”
“And may I ask who you are?” Chloe asked.
The woman tilted her chin toward the sky as she answered, “My name is Circe, the monarch of Aeaea, on which you stand.” She lowered her eyes and looked at Chloe, though her proud chin remained aloft. “You’ve not heard of me where you’re from?”
Chloe looked to Orpheus as she shrugged. “Uh, I’m sorry, but no.”
“Forgive us, madam,” Orpheus said. “We hail from the future world. And I regret to say that our scholars leave out much of the past from the history books.”
Circe pursed her lips, and with a clap of her hands every animal stopped eating and pointed their ears toward their mistress. “Come! I’m sure you are famished from your journey. I was just preparing a banquet when Erato informed me of visitors. We shall feast, and I will give you the pleasure of learning what your daft teachers have neglected.” She picked up her long skirts and walked toward the beach, her herd of pets trailing behind.
“Do you think she knows Iris?” Chloe asked Orpheus. She caught him staring at Circe, at the woman’s suntanned arms swaying to her own melodious song, and her long, bleached hair blowing in the breeze. “Orpheus?”
“I…I don’t know,” he said. “But I’m hungry. How about you?”
Chloe took another look at the world around her: the craggy rocks that separated the shore from black, vertical cliffs; the lush copses of tamarisks and pine trees; the azure waves lapping onto the shimmering sand; and the complete quiet that encompassed it all.
She wanted to feel peace here. She wanted to feel a latent spirit of adventure taking flight inside her and then throw every grain of caution to the wind. As silly as it was, she wanted to be like Rhoda, her yellow-haired, hand-drawn friend who was afraid of nothing, nothing except the ordinary. But no matter how hard she fought it, she couldn’t suppress the unease sitting in the pit of her stomach like a stone.
She wasn’t hungry. She felt sick. And worse than that, she felt stuck.
“How do we get home?” She checked her phone, but not surprisingly it was dead, as worthless as the pebbles she was standing on.
“I don’t know that, either,” said Orpheus, already a few yards ahead of her.
Chloe wanted to scream at him. She wanted to scream at herself. She was stranded, for all she knew, on a deserted island with a boy she’d just met, and a gorgeous, egocentric animal tamer who probably knew nothing of Iris or Charis, much less why Chloe and Orpheus were the lucky ones traveling back in time to see them. But what could she do? Where could she go?
The stone in her stomach grew larger as her pulse quickened. She took three deep breaths and recited a mantra her counselor had taught her to say whenever she felt stressed: “Stay calm and carry on.” It didn’t help.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
SEEDS
Circe led them through a stone gate into the courtyard of her home. Every animal fit comfortably inside it, and Chloe’s eyes grew wide at the sight of myriad other creatures, some she couldn’t name, napping silently beneath the colonnade. Even the birds, perched on the red tile roof, were quiet, their tiny eyes glued to their guests.
Chloe glanced at Orpheus to see if he found the scene as strange as she did. Startled by his pale face and glassy eyes, she followed his gaze to an enormous narrow frieze chiseled into the side of the courtyard wall, just below the triangular gable that formed the end of the roof. It depicted dozens of men, some young and beardless, others old and bald, but all of them with woe and torment etched into their marble faces. All of them were struggling, veins bulging from their arms and necks, their sandals broken, tunics torn, striving to break free. But from what, Chloe didn’t know, and she didn’t have the nerve to ask.
“Welcome to my Elysium,” said Circe, her gold bracelets jangling as she spread her arms and spun in circles, the proud monarch of this otherworldly oasis.
“Who are they?” Chloe asked Orpheus, her eyes darting back to the frieze.
In response, Orpheus clenched his jaw.
“Perfect!” Circe exclaimed. She was standing beside a pomegranate tree, inspecting a piece of fruit. She strode under the covered porch and called for someone from inside the house.
Chloe gasped to see a half-man, half-horse hybrid step out, his golden head bowed submissively. Circe handed him the pomegranate as she pointed to the tree. Without saying a word, the man—or was he an animal—fetched a wheelbarrow from behind one of the columns, trotted to the tree, and began pulling down the fruit with his brown, muscular arms.
“We’ll gorge ourselves on pomegranates and honey cakes for dessert,” Circe said to Orpheus and Chloe. She motioned toward a round wooden table in between two long rows of blossoming Jacaranda trees, their branches bending to meet one another and forming a lilac canopy which sufficiently blocked the sun. “Sit,” commanded Circe.
Orpheus and Chloe obeyed, each immediately eyeing the tiered fountain beside the wall, its water flowing from a stone ring of lions’ heads crowning the top. Chloe was about to run to it and quench her thirst when yet another half-man, half-horse creature appeared holding a jar of red wine and three black terracotta cups. He poured them a glass, his eyes never looking up. Chloe could see that he was very young, her age or a few years older, with a clean-shaven face, full head of black hair, and a broad bare chest that had obviously done its share of labor. His legs and hindquarters were the same color as the hair on his head, and just as strong.
“Sir?” Chloe said. But the man disregarded her and quickly slipped out of the shade. “I was just going to ask for water,” she said, and then took a gulp of wine. Orpheus laughed as she winced and shook her head wildly, as if doing so might weaken the taste. “It’s awful,” she rasped, her tongue and esophagus stinging.
“That was a generous drink for your first time.” Orpheus raised his cup and swilled the wine, then breathed in its aroma with a smile. “You get used to it.” He took a drink, sat back in his chair and let out a long, contented sigh. “And then you love it.”
“Do you know anything about that?” Chloe asked, her thumb shooting back to the frieze behind them. “Who they are?”
Orpheus’s smile evaporated. His eyes skimmed the purple blooms then fell onto his hands. He opened and closed his fingers as his lips parted a little. “Old heroes,” he said, just above a whisper. His blue eyes, made violet by the trees, locked with hers. “Heroes to whom fate was unkind.”
Chloe sat still, unsure whether she should probe him further. After a minute, she decided to change the subject. “And what about them?” she asked. “The horse people.”
“They’re called—”
“They are my centaurs,” Circe interrupted, her magenta robes sweeping under the table as she sat down. She placed a loaf of dark bread and a shallow bowl of pomegranate seeds in the
center of the table. “Very helpful boys, but very dull. They hardly converse, even amongst themselves. I apologize for their boorishness. But in their defense, we don’t receive many guests for whom manners are required.” She laughed.
“Are all centaurs like that?” Chloe’s mind flashed back to the centaur she saw with Iris, Charis, and the other man, fleeing together in the fire tunnel. She’d been too distracted—and too afraid—to study him for any length of time. She only knew he was ugly, and Circe’s centaurs were anything but.
“Do you mean brutish, or beautiful?” Circe asked, tearing off a piece of bread.
“Both, I suppose.”
“All are brutish.” Circe dipped the bread into a small puddle of olive oil and handed it to Chloe.
It was the best thing she’d ever tasted, crisp on the outside, fluffy in the middle, and every morsel warm and rich, with just a touch of sweetness. The pit that had been in her stomach was summarily mollified, filled with the decadence of a simple slice of bread. Her mouth began to water.
“But only mine are beautiful,” Circe added, as she gave both Orpheus and Chloe more to eat. She placed two fingers in her mouth and whistled for a centaur. “More dishes!” she shouted.
The same black-haired centaur galloped to the table, set three plates in front of them, then bowed and retreated as quickly as he’d come.
“So skittish,” said Circe, her mouth full of bread. “Like untamed horses, aren’t they?” She giggled, almost wickedly.
As Chloe washed down another bite with a conservative swig of wine, it dawned on her that she wasn’t as hungry as she was acting. She was stress-eating again. Of course, this island and its residents were unusual, and the circumstances of how she’d arrived there were mind-boggling, but there was something else, something in the animals’ eyes and the dispirited way they carried themselves, in the centaurs’ pitiable shyness, and in the way Circe controlled their every move with a snap of her ageless fingers.
Chloe could sense that Orpheus was uneasy, too. Ever since she’d asked about the frieze of men in anguish, the “old heroes,” he’d been restless, shifting in his seat, cracking his knuckles, rubbing the back of his neck. What else did he know about them? What else did he know about Circe?
“Which is your favorite?” Circe asked, bringing Chloe’s unspoken questions to a halt.
Chloe jumped to attention and forced a smile before taking another drink. “Excuse me,” she said. “My favorite what?”
“Animal,” Circe said, pouring herself a cup of wine.
Chloe noticed that every finger, save for Circe’s pinkies, were adorned with rings, each one covered in jewels. How had she become so rich? It was a nosey question, to be sure, but it seemed utterly impossible for a hermit to have such wealth.
“I have more inside the house,” Circe said. “Deer, wolves, boars, tortoises, leopards, all of them gentle as doves.”
“In the world we come from,” said Chloe, “we’re only allowed to own one animal: a dog, a cat, or a fish. All the other species are kept inside of zoos and nature reserves. I suppose my answer would be a horse. I saw some a long time ago and since then I’ve always wanted to ride one.”
Circe’s eyes lit up then narrowed as she smiled. “Excellent answer.” She stretched her arms wide over her head and stared up at the sky through the branches. “We shall go for a ride after our meal,” she said as her arms returned to her sides.
“I’d love to, but I have to be home soon,” Chloe said, her finger tracing the rim of her cup. “In a few minutes, actually. I’ll be in very big trouble if I’m not.” She took a sip, beginning to change her opinion on wine. Orpheus was right—it just took some getting used to.
“Oh, nonsense,” said Circe, her smile widening. “There is no time here. You didn’t know?”
Chloe shook her head and looked at Orpheus.
“Eat, drink, and be merry,” Circe said.
Chloe felt a lump in her throat. Who was she to question how time worked? It was obvious, more now than ever, that she knew nothing of physics, or history either for that matter. The whole world was upside down and spinning, and it was all she could do to keep her balance. She downed the rest of her wine. It was the closest thing to stress-eating she could do without devouring all of Circe’s bread.
“I will have the centaurs saddle the horses,” Circe announced as she stood from the table.
If Chloe hadn’t been so confused by the picture that statement evoked, she would have laughed.
“Do try the pomegranate seeds, my dear Chloe. They’re one of the keys to everlasting youth.” Circe winked and tossed a silky curtain of hair over her shoulder as she headed toward the house.
Well, now Chloe knew at least one of Circe’s secrets. She placed her hand into the dish of seeds and watched them bleed onto her fingertips. She’d never had pomegranate seeds before and wondered if they’d be sweet or tart, and whether she’d feel any younger if she ate one.
She could feel Orpheus staring as she plucked one out and held it between her fingers. “Would you like some?” she asked, pushing the dish his direction.
He shook his head. “All yours,” he said. “Excuse me. I’m going to go see if I might be of help inside. Enjoy.” He rose, took his glass of wine, and left Chloe alone at the table.
It was then that the air got cold, though there wasn’t any wind; the leaves and limbs were completely still, and the sun shined bright outside the trees. Chloe set down the seed and stared at the dish, the red seeds like eyes looking back at her. They reminded her of the myth about Persephone, how she had been abducted by Hades, ruler of the Underworld, and tricked into remaining his queen because she ate seeds just like these…
“There’s just one warning you should heed:
Do not eat of the enchanted seed.
Take a lesson from Hades’ wife,
Who descended to hell, though she kept her life.”
Carya’s words echoed like a bell in Chloe’s brain. Her breathing became shallow as the chilled air seeped into her bones. She stood and went to the fountain, hoping the sun would warm her, but its rays felt like sleet against her skin. She gripped the edge of the first tier, leaned over and splashed her face with the tepid water until she could form one coherent thought: the myth of Persephone was just that: a myth.
Chloe cupped the water in her hands and took a drink as she thought back to the day before. The warning from the odd girl in her backseat had sounded so absurd that Chloe had let it go in one ear and out the other. But somehow—somehow—it had entered her memory before exiting her ear, because now it was the only thing she could think about.
“I can’t eat those seeds,” she whispered as she turned back to the table. “I won’t.”
She watched in stunned silence as the bowl of seeds levitated from the table and flew through the air like a discus until it crashed into the frieze ten yards away, smearing a man’s marble face with blood-red juice. A calico cat in the nearest tree hissed and jumped down to the grass.
Chloe’s hands got clammy as the pit in her stomach returned, this time joined with a burning acidity that climbed into her tightening throat. On her periphery, she saw the magenta hem of Circe’s robes drawing closer.
“What have you done?” shouted Circe, both her hands raised toward the vandalized frieze.
“I didn’t do anything,” Chloe said, sweating now that the temperature had normalized to somewhere near ninety degrees.
“I show you nothing but hospitality, and you repay me with this barbaric act of insolence.” Circe’s white face swelled red with rage. “I used to know better than to fraternize with sycophantic humans. It seems that I’ve gone soft after these thousands of years.”
“It lifted and threw itself,” Chloe said, frantic boldness mixing with her fear. “You must know something about the supernatural, Circe. That’s why I came here with Orpheus.” Speaking of Orpheus, she wondered where he was right about now…
Circe’s sinister laugh sickened
Chloe further. “You will never know about the supernatural, my dear, naïve girl. Unless…” She began to walk toward Chloe, her lovely features softening with every step. She reached into a pouch near her breast and pulled out a pomegranate seed. “Unless you eat this.” She held the seed to the sunlight, smiling as it glistened like a ruby. “Eternal youth, unthinkable knowledge, impossible beauty, all yours.”
Chloe stared at the seed, thinking of Persephone. If Carya’s words were trustworthy, the tragic queen was somewhere below her feet in the Underworld, forever beautiful, forever immortal, forever wise. Yet it had all been against her will; all Persephone had wanted was to live her life like anybody else. Chloe, on the other hand, had been warned of the insidious trap, and evaded it. And still Circe persisted. Why? Hades already had his queen. And if he hadn’t, he surely wouldn’t have chosen Chloe Zacharias to marry.
Asking more questions, Chloe knew, would only encourage Circe to continue tempting her. According to Circe, she wouldn’t know anything until she swallowed that infamous little seed.
Chloe reached out to Circe and opened up her hand.
“That’s a good girl,” whispered Circe as she dropped the seed into Chloe’s palm and froze, waiting.
Before she had time to consider the repercussions, Chloe turned and flung the seed far over the wall. Circe screamed so loudly and so long that the dogs and wolves began to howl. Polecats, weasels, and red foxes that had hitherto been hidden scurried across the courtyard into the house.
Now that Circe’s last drop of hospitality had drained away, she charged the table and grabbed the pitcher of wine. “Orpheus!” she shouted. “Hermes! Show yourselves!” With an ear-splitting shriek, she raised the pitcher over her head and started back toward Chloe. “Very well. I will have to do this the hard way.”
And then there was music. Sweet, mellow notes rolled through the jacaranda trees to where Circe and Chloe stood, soothing and light as a summer breeze. Hearing the melody grow louder, Circe reacted as though she’d been stung by a hornet. She threw down the pitcher and covered her ears.
