Chants to Persephone: The Future of the World Hangs on a Knife's Edge - and Only a Human Sacrifice Can Save It

by Jennifer Macaire

  I managed to forget about him and spent my time relaxing in the sauna, playing chess with Paul, or cleaning and mending our clothes. We were starting to look ragged from so much travel. Axiom was a big help; he had always been Alexander’s valet and knew how to sew up a ripped cloak or take out stains in linen. I was vain. I missed Brazza; he could spend hours brushing and dressing my hair, doing my make-up, and giving me manicures. Without him around, my hair lived in braids, my hands were chapped, and I’d lost my make-up somewhere between Massalia and Lutetia.

  Phaleria sold Egyptian kohl, carmine from Corsica, powder from Rome, blue and purple eye shadow from Persia, and lipstick and perfume made by the Parisii. I managed to replace most of my cosmetics, and Phaleria gave me a recipe for a skin cream. I only needed lanolin from a sheep, lavender oil, thyme, a cup of ass’s milk, a pinch of talc, honey, and rose water. Easy. I stared at the recipe and wondered what lanolin looked like, and what part of a sheep it was from.

  The weather had brightened considerably, and the fishing boats came back bursting with cod and mackerel. The village was in high spirits; three new trading boats had been sighted heading this way, and everyone hastily polished up their wares and set up stands along the beach. Soon the whole village was spread out and ready to trade. Phaleria, who’d arrived first, had been busy, but now I saw why she hadn’t taken all her wares out of the boat. The villagers weren’t the only ones in the region. From inland, came wagons pulled by reindeer, which made Paul cry out with delight. Even Alexander was surprised by the tame deer.

  ‘What amazing creatures,’ Alexander kept saying. ‘They have webbed feet like ducks, fur like rabbits, a beard like a goat, huge antlers, and the face of a cow!’ He hurried to take out his journal and sketch a picture of the beasts for Plexis. ‘He’ll never believe this,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘He’ll think I’m making it up.’

  ‘What about the narwhal?’ I asked him. He kept a journal, like any well-educated man of his time, and was no mean artist. We’d caught sight of a narwhal one day, and he’d used up nearly five pages describing and drawing it.

  ‘He’ll think I made that up too,’ he said. He frowned at his picture and added more height to the antlers. ‘I can’t wait to see him and tell him everything we’ve seen. But you have to be there too, otherwise he won’t believe a word.’

  I looked at his picture and told him to add eight more reindeer behind the one he’d drawn. ‘And a bigger sleigh.’ He complied, mystified, and then I drew in a stout gentleman with a fluffy beard and a sack full of toys sticking out of the back of the sled. I giggled, thinking of Plexis’s face when he saw that.

  ‘What in Zeus’s name is that?’ Alexander sputtered, looking at his drawing.

  ‘Santa Claus,’ I said. ‘In my time we tell children stories about this fellow. He flies through the air with his sled and brings toys to good girls and boys. If you had red ink I’d make his suit look better,’ I added. ‘The deer all have names. There’s Dasher and Dancer and Donner and Vixen, Comet and Cupid and Prancer and Blitzen. The deer in the front has a red nose that glows. His name’s Rudolph. I can sing you a song about him if you like.’ I was nostalgic all of a sudden.

  Alexander stared at me. He drew his brows together in a scowl. ‘You don’t believe anything I tell you about dryads or nymphs, you mock our gods, you forget the names of the nine muses, but you know the names of nine tame deer, and now you’re trying to tell me they can fly?’

  ‘It’s only a story for children,’ I said. ‘My nanny used to tell it to me. I used to look forward to Christmas. It was the only time my family paid attention to me. We were so rich, I had more gifts than all the children in the village put together. I thought it was wonderful until I grew old enough to be embarrassed about it.’

  Alexander opened his mouth to say something then shut it. He reached over and gently brushed a tear off my cheek. ‘Why are you crying?’

  ‘Something’s missing. It was when you started talking about Plexis. I miss him terribly.’

  He smiled at me. ‘I yearn for Plexis too.’ He caught my look and grinned. ‘I can picture him here, huddled in furs close to the fire, his nose blue with cold and his feet frozen. He would sneeze and say we were barbarians, impervious to cold.’

  ‘And then he’d smile and his whole face would light up.’ I said dreamily.

  ‘He’d like your story about the flying deer and the gifts.’

  ‘You know, I’m not too sure about the reindeer names,’ I said apologetically.

  ‘That’s all right. I sometimes get the muses mixed up.’ Alexander put his arm around my shoulder and put his head against mine.

  I smiled. That was a huge lie. But it made me feel better.

  A cold wind whipped our hair, and there were white caps in the fjord. Three trading boats were coming in under sail. Two were boats built in Roman style, and one was a Phoenician trader. Then the sails were taken down, and the boats rowed the rest of the way. They each went to a different dock. People started rushing toward the harbour. A stir of energy swept through the village. Alexander and I were caught up in the excitement. Alexander tucked his journal into his belt, and we jogged toward the boats.

  The Phoenician trading boat captured my attention. It came from so far away. Perhaps there was even news from Greece. On board, the crew was busy tucking away the sails and ropes while the captain spoke to an official, showing him the tablet upon which all his goods were tallied. Already, I could see amphorae of wine, olive oil, and palm oil being rolled onto the deck. Wax seals and symbols stamped into the clay showed what each jar contained. I was fascinated. Olive oil was probably very welcome in a place where the only oil came from codfish. Bushel baskets of dried dates were next, and then there were tightly rolled packages of quality papyrus. The boat had been trading in Egypt. Alexander noticed before I did. He stepped lightly on board and tapped the captain on the shoulder.

  ‘Have you news from Alexandria, near Egypt,’ he asked, ‘or from Greece?’

  The captain nodded. ‘I do, sir. I would be glad to fill you in on everything, but first I need to see to my crew and my goods. Perhaps you could help me. I have a passenger who is grievously ill. If you could get a healer to come look at him, I’d be much obliged. I haven’t got time to do so myself.’

  Alexander nodded and left the boat. I was curious though, and a little worried. Contagious diseases often travelled by boat. I thought of the Black Plague, and shivered.

  ‘What exactly does your passenger suffer from?’ I asked.

  The man frowned. ‘A fever, mostly. And delirium.’

  ‘Have any more of your crew been ill?’ I asked.

  The man shook his head. ‘No, this man was wounded even before he came on board. It was a sword fight from the looks of it. I wouldn’t have taken him, but he begged me. He said he had to get to the ‘Arctica’ as fast as possible. He said he had to find someone.’

  I was intrigued. ‘Find whom?’

  ‘He says he’s seeking Iskander, the great conqueror,’ said the boat captain with a twisted grin. ‘Now you see why I say he’s delirious. Everyone knows Iskander died in Babylon. He …’

  I didn’t hear the rest of his words. I pushed by him and bolted for the lower deck.

  There was one room set aside for sleeping. Crew slept on the floor, on pallets, or in hammocks hanging at various levels from the floor. The man I was looking for was lying in a hammock. His face was ashen. His breathing was shallow and his eyes were closed. A bandage was wrapped around his shoulder, holding his arm against his chest. When I spoke his name, his eyelashes fluttered. He opened his eyes and looked at me.

  ‘By Zeus,’ he said faintly. ‘I’ve found you.’ Then his eyes rolled back in his head, and he passed out.

  I stared as spots of blood appeared on his chest. Then I realized that my nose was bleeding. I put numb hands up to stop it. I felt as if I’d been dipped into ice. In another minute I would shatter. ‘Plexis,’ I whispered. ‘What happened to you?�
� Then my self-control slipped, and I screamed.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Alexander must not have been too far away, because he heard my cry. The captain stared, open-mouthed, as Alexander leapt back onto the boat and crashed down the hatch, lunging past sailors carrying precious amphorae of oil.

  ‘What is it?’ he cried.

  ‘It’s Plexis!’ I pointed.

  Alexander gave one look at his friend and blenched. ‘I’ll get Nearchus,’ he said, and left as quickly as he came.

  I bent over Plexis. He looked dreadful. His face was gaunt and unshaven. Each breath he took seemed to pain him. A bandage covered his arm. It was soaked with blood and pus and smelled like rotten meat. I could barely stand close to him; the stench was awful. I held my breath. If he had gangrene, he was doomed. From what I could tell, his arm had been badly broken, cut, and hastily set and bandaged. I wondered when, and how, and especially, why. Why had he come? Why had he abandoned Chiron and Cleopatra? What had happened?

  ‘Plexis, Plexis!’ I called, my voice urgent.

  Alexander and Nearchus came in a matter of minutes.

  They carried Plexis carefully from the boat and headed for the inn, where we had our belongings.

  ‘I’ll boil water,’ I said inanely. In times like this, all I could think about was germs.

  ‘Why? Do you think he needs soup?’ asked Nearchus.

  ‘He needs bathing, shaving, and rest,’ said Alexander, assessing the situation. He’d already lifted the bandage and peered under it carefully. ‘I wish Usse were here.’

  ‘Me too,’ I moaned, opening the bag of medical supplies and scanning Usse’s voluminous notes for hints on what to do with badly set bones and festering sword wounds.

  Alexander and Nearchus set to work cleaning Plexis. Halfway through the operation, Demos came to help. I carefully measured ingredients from Usse’s pharmacy, hoping that whatever I was mixing would work. While I ground sulphur in a little mortar; I saw Demos studying Plexis’ arm.

  ‘Is he unconscious?’ he asked.

  Alexander looked up at him and nodded. ‘He is, why?’

  Demos frowned. ‘This is why.’ He took the arm firmly in his huge hands and gave a straight, hard pull. There was a cracking sound, and Plexis woke up screaming.

  Alexander swore, Nearchus too, only more fluently.

  I froze and looked up from my mortar, but Demos just whistled as he examined the new angle that he’d made with Plexis’s arm.

  ‘Now that will heal straight,’ he said with satisfaction. ‘Let’s clean out the wound.’

  A nasty gash across the forearm had been cauterized and left to heal. It was infected, though, and I winced as Demos set about scraping and cleaning. An abscess broke and pus gushed out. Alexander turned green, but he held the arm tightly. Nearchus fainted. I didn’t see him, but I heard him hit the ground. Demos didn’t even blink. He asked for a scalpel. ‘There’s more,’ he announced. He asked for tweezers and pulled out a five-inch sliver of bone. ‘He didn’t need that in there,’ he said, his voice jovial.

  He whistled while he worked. Plexis woke up, screamed, then fainted again.

  When I finished the balm, Demos smoothed it over the wound before binding it carefully with strips of clean linen. ‘Let’s see if we can save this arm,’ he said heartily.

  My lips moved in silent prayer. If the arm were saved, Plexis would have a horrendous scar for the rest of his life. I sighed and stood up, wiping shaking hands on my tunic.

  ‘Thank you, Demos,’ I said.

  ‘No problem. I always wanted to practise medicine.’

  ‘So did I,’ said Alexander. ‘But not on my friends.’ He rubbed his hands across his face.

  Nearchus had recovered from his faint. ‘I’ll stay here until he wakes up,’ he said to Alexander. ‘You go back to the boat captain and find out if he knows anything else.’

  Paul came in the room in a rush. He leaned over Plexis. ‘He looks bad. Where are Chiron and Cleopatra? Did he say anything?’

  ‘He’s been mostly unconscious,’ I answered.

  I began to pace. He must have left right after us. He’d been wounded roughly two weeks ago, at the most, so he had been following us closely. But what had made him leave?

  While I wondered about this, Alexander came back. He pulled me to him, hugging me hard. ‘The boat captain says he took Plexis on board when he stopped for provisions on the coast. He was already wounded, alone, and delirious,’ he said.

  ‘What’s the news from Alexandria?’ I asked.

  ‘Nothing important, but there was news from Carthage. Strange things are happening. The priests are predicting the end of the world.’

  I trembled in his arms. ‘I have to tell you something,’ I said. ‘Yovanix said that the druid who attacked us and killed the Romans was a thief of souls. He hasn’t given up searching for Paul.’ Alexander stiffened. ‘He also said that the Celts believe that time can be twisted somehow. Isn’t that ridiculous?’ I finished with a sob.

  ‘I don’t …’ He broke off.

  I pulled back and looked at him.

  ‘What?’

  ‘I don’t want him to die.’ He spoke simply but his voice cracked on the last word.

  ‘He won’t,’ I said.

  ‘He’s dying.’

  ‘No.’ I shook my head. ‘He’s not.’ I pushed his hands away and walked over to where Plexis lay. His body had always been so smooth, so cool. I touched his forehead with the tips of my fingers. It was hot. Tears slid down my cheeks. ‘What can we do?’ I asked Axiom, who was sitting on the floor by Nearchus.

  I saw he’d been praying. ‘I don’t know.’

  Alexander sat on the bed and took Plexis in his arms, lifting him to a sitting position. His breathing eased somewhat, but he didn’t open his eyes. ‘He’s burning up,’ he said.

  At that moment, Phaleria arrived. She led an old woman by the hand. ‘This is the healer,’ she said. ‘Demos said you needed one.’

  The woman was blind. Her eyes were milky-white, and her silver hair was tied back with a leather thong. She wore a brown linen robe with beautifully worked embroidery on the bodice and skirt. She didn’t look like a healer. She looked like an elderly wood sprite. She even had a strand of red hawthorn berries around her neck.

  ‘Alex, she can’t see!’ I whispered.

  ‘Hush.’ He moved off the bed making room for the healer. She knelt at the bedside and ran her hands lightly over Plexis’s body. She crooned eerily.

  ‘She’s laying on the hands,’ Alexander told me.

  ‘What is she doing?’ I asked. ‘Where’s the medicine? Where are her herbs?’

  ‘You have no weird women in your land?’ Axiom gave me a startled glance.

  ‘No.’ I shook my head. The woman shushed me and waved us away. We went to the other side of the room and watched. Her hands barely touched him. After a while she peeled the covers off Plexis and ran her hands over his whole body. In the dim light, I couldn’t be sure, but it looked as if she were stirring the air around him.

  ‘Everyone has an aura,’ Axiom explained. ‘Some people have a strong aura, and some have a very subtle one. Exceptional auras can practically be felt. Certain people see them as colours and can feel them. A healer can change it.’

  ‘Sort of like an electric field around the body,’ I guessed.

  Since I’d already explained electricity to Axiom, he knew what I meant. ‘Yes, in a way.’

  ‘Will he get better?’

  ‘I don’t know.’ He went back to his prayers.

  Alexander’s hands were clenched so hard they were white. I took one and slowly unfolded it. His nails had made red puncture marks in the skin. ‘Why did I leave him?’ he asked. His eyes filled with tears.

  ‘He’s not going to die,’ I said. ’Let’s be optimistic.’

  ‘It’s hard for someone without a soul to be optimistic.’ He didn’t say it in jest. His whole face twisted and he sat down heavily on the floor.


  I sat next to him and held him tightly. I was frightened. The melancholy madness that haunted him was just under the surface. I could see it in his eyes; if Plexis died, it would submerge him. I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to pray.

  The old woman stayed for nearly an hour. The silence in the room was as heavy as the pall of smoke. When the healer finished, Phaleria went to her side.

  ‘What does she think?’ I asked, waylaying them.

  Phaleria shook her head. ‘She won’t make predictions. We’ll see soon enough if it’s helped.’

  ‘We will?’ I echoed dumbly.

  ‘If he dies, it didn’t work,’ said Demos. He stepped back making room for Phaleria and the old woman to pass. ‘But if he lives, his arm will be straight.’

  I looked at Plexis. He moaned and turned his head toward me.

  ‘Ashley?’ he whispered.

  ‘I’m right here,’ I answered.

  ‘He’s coming after Paul. I had to stop him. I tried to stop him. Iskander …’ His voice trailed away.

  ‘Shhh. It’s all right. We’re fine, we’re right here.’

  ‘My arm hurts,’ he whimpered. He didn’t open his eyes.

  ‘It’s going to be all right. How are Chiron and Cleopatra? Where are they?’ I couldn’t keep the fear out of my voice.

  ‘They are with … Usse …they are all right.’ He drew a deep breath and coughed.

  ‘Don’t talk any more. Just rest.’

  Plexis’s voice was little more than a whisper. ‘Must tell you,’ he said. Between each word was a little gasp. ‘A druid came to the house. Looking for Paul. He nearly killed Usse.’

  ‘Usse? Where is he now? Where are the children?’ Alexander asked.

  ‘With Ptolemy. He swore he’d protect them. Brazza too. I took them to Memphis.’ His voice was getting weaker.

  ‘Plexis, if you die, I’ll never forgive you,’ I said, bursting into tears. ‘Will you just be quiet and get better?’

  ‘No.’