Sacred Bride

by Sacred Bride (retail) (epub)

  I decide I really do need to talk this through with Bria, even if it means waking the grumpy cow up.

  I don’t bother strapping on my armour – it’s too time consuming and noisy – so I settle for slinging my xiphos over my shoulder and stealing over to where she’s sleeping.

  Or where I thought she was sleeping: there’s just empty ground – even her blanket is gone. For one ghastly moment I think she’s been dragged off by a wolf, or worse, but then I catch sight of movement up on the tor itself and creep up the steep path towards it.

  I’m nearly at the top when I catch sight of her – or what I assume is her; right in the middle of the circle, surrounded by drifts of snow, a sleeping shape with a tumble of pale hair just like Meli’s protruding from one end of a wrinkled blanket. I’m debating with myself about disturbing her when someone steals out from behind one of the stones, a squat shape with a bald pate, a wild beard and bright eyes. He bends stealthily over her, reaching out…

  Telmius! What’s the double-dealing bastard doing…?

  I open my mouth to holler a warning. But two things make the words die in my throat.

  The first is that Bria stirs, just as his hand grips the edge of her blanket, and with a throaty chuckle she twists up into his arms. She’s naked – I see moonlit flesh as she lets him kiss her, while his hand grasps and then kneads at her left breast.

  And someone grips my wrist. ‘Shhh…’ a woman’s voice hisses.

  There’s a dark shape, right beside me, and I catch a whiff of ripe, feminine body. ‘Quiet,’ she whispers, and something prods my back, right between my shoulder-blades. It’s not sharp enough to be a sword but I’m left somehow immobile and speechless.

  How could I have let myself be caught like this?

  The woman directs my eyes back to the stone circle – Bria’s abandoned the blanket and dropped to her knees, presenting her naked behind to Telmius. The wind has dropped to a whisper, but even so, it’s freezing up here, yet she’s oblivious to the cold. The priest lets his robes fall from his shoulders, and I feel as though my heart has stopped. Now that he too is naked, the reason for his odd gait becomes clear: he’s got the hairiest legs I’ve ever seen, and they’re backward jointed, ending in large, shaggy hooves, which have previously been hidden by his boots. Bria doesn’t seem to notice or care, and I realise that this isn’t the first time he’s gone to her. So much for thinking she isn’t interested in him… She arches her back and moans in pleasure as he enters her.

  I look away again, at my captor.

  In the dim light, she’s a feral thing, dirty-faced with a mane of dark hair and honey-coloured eyes which the moonlight fails to bleach. Her hot breath is fruity and sweet, and her teeth pointed and oddly bright. I don’t feel imperilled though; there’s just a strange sense of dislocation, as if this is happening to someone other than me. I realise that all that she’s pressed to my back is her finger.

  But I’m paralysed anyway, even when she runs her free hand down the front of my tunic. Without warning the memory of Kyshanda overwhelms me, and I choke on a wave of misery and despair. The wild girl goes still, peering at my face curiously before leaning in and licking at the tears coursing down my face.

  Her tongue is rough like a cat, and the shock of it – the coarse wetness, coupled with the hand massaging my crotch – takes my breath away. She kisses me, breathing through my mouth as if reviving a drowning man. The act makes my heart thud back to life, and blood gushes through my body.

  Suddenly, overpoweringly, irrationally, I want her.

  Kyshanda is gone, that small part of my mind that’s still trying to make sense of this tells me. Gone from your life forever.

  That doesn’t mean I can’t long for her, mourn her, my heart replies. Or remain true to her memory.

  I’m appalled at what is happening, appalled that my body can be so much at odds with my feelings, but the urgency of need, an overwhelming madness of the senses, has taken over. I let the woman drag me down onto the ground and pull up first my tunic then hers: in the moonlight her skin is bronzed, her hips narrow and her pubis thickly haired. She’s clearly already fully aroused and has no time for pleasuring, pulling me down onto her and moaning as I penetrate her wetness easily, and for several moments we grind and thrust, until her eyes bulge and a low groan escapes her.

  It’s then that I realise that, in the midst of our passion, her forehead has sprouted horns, and her eyes are lit with yellow light. Whatever she is, she’s not human. But I don’t care. All I want to do is to use her to forget Kyshanda. Caught up in my need, I pound her until release floods me, a hot rush of pure lust that sweeps all thought, all the pain of my loss away for a few blissful seconds.

  Then the reality returns, and I’m lying, entangled with a stranger who’s not even human. I wrench myself away, filled with self-loathing and stagger to my feet as she looks up at me with a puzzled, hurt look. But I can’t stand to be here a moment longer. I pull down my tunic, wrap myself in my cloak and flee, stumbling down the steep path and battering my toes against the rocks, all but oblivious to the pain.

  I’ve betrayed Kyshanda. I’m a piece of shit…

  * * *

  Dawn finds me on a low rise below the camp. It’s still freezing cold and the sharp, ice-glazed rocks I’m sitting on, huddled over and clutching my misery to me, are stabbing through my tunic into my behind. My cheeks are crusted with tears and my eyes are swollen from weeping. The only time I’ve ever felt so wretched was the day I found out I was a bastard child and was cast from my family – but that day wasn’t my fault. This last night was.

  I’m supposed to be in love; aren’t good people supposed to do everything for love? Yet I’ve betrayed Kyshanda, the most wonderful woman in the world, a woman to die for. It was only a month ago that we shared the most astonishing lovemaking. But as soon as temptation arose, I stuck my cock into a half-animal… I’m utterly disgusted at myself.

  The crunch of footsteps behind me is the last thing I want to hear. I can tell who it is from their tread but I’m too numb to turn.

  ‘Fuck off,’ I mutter.

  ‘Poor Ithaca,’ Bria says, plopping herself down beside me. ‘Forced to have sex with a being of wild nature and magic, when all he really wants to do is sulk,’ she adds, without a trace of sympathy. She drapes an unwanted arm round my shoulder. Her hair is wet and she smells freshly washed. I most certainly don’t.

  ‘Why don’t you tell Big Sister Bria what’s the matter?’ she coos.

  I go to push her away – but then it occurs to me that I do need to talk about this, and if not to her, then to whom? She’s the only one who knows – not conclusively, but she does – that I’m in love with Kyshanda, and she also understands the intricacies of the theioi world. If anyone is going to understand, it’s her.

  ‘Very well. You guessed right, Kyshanda was among the Trojan party at Dodona. Damastor and I managed to escape Skaya-Mandu in the gorge, but when Damastor fell and knocked himself unconscious, I found an abandoned hut in the hills for us to hide in. Kyshanda found us – she came alone, without her brother’s knowledge. We made love, and she offered me the chance to go with her to Troy. She swore I would be safe, and that Queen Hekuba herself had given her permission for us to marry. If I’d said yes, I’d be in Troy with the woman I love. At this very moment.’

  ‘But you didn’t say yes.’

  ‘Of course not! How could I? They still intend to conquer us, either by crushing our trade or by force. And Skaya-Mandu hates me. He’d murder me before we had the chance to get married, even if the queen’s offer is genuine. I had to say no, but…’

  ‘But it’s broken your heart. Poor boy,’ Bria murmurs, but this time there is sympathy in her voice. ‘I’ll not pretend I understand – I’ve never been in love. But I do feel sorry for you.’

  I shoot her a glance. ‘Never in love? What about Hephaestus?’

  She shakes her head. ‘No. Not even with him. I’ve had gods, daemons, people I wanted… n
eeded… craved… who were snatched away from me. I’ve been reduced to this pitiful bodiless thing but I—’ Her voice cuts off, as if she’s caught herself on the verge of revealing too much. Then she sighs. ‘But never love. It must be horrible.’

  ‘What? No, it’s wonderful.’

  ‘Is it? I don’t see the evidence. All that unhappiness, that agony of want. And even if you get together, it just turns to banality and babies. Pooing and fouled breach cloths and wailing and vomiting, endless sleepless nights. Ugh! Look at you, crying on a hillside in the middle of nowhere! Great advertisement for love, you are.’ Her voice takes on her more familiar, practical tones. ‘All’s not lost, Ithaca. Your fate and hers seem intertwined. You’ve refused Troy, but you can still use her. Turn her to our side.’

  ‘Impossible… and I’ll not use her – I love her.’

  ‘Well, she is a prize piece of eastern fanny, I’ll grant you that,’ she says, with deliberate callousness. ‘Contrive to see her, give her some of that Ithacan whatever that she seems to like. And tell her this: that the only chance we have of a peaceful solution is if she works with us. See if she bites.’

  ‘That’s disgusting. I will not pervert or betray our love! It’s… it’s dishonourable.’

  ‘Dishonourable? Since when is the survival of our people a matter for honour?’ Bria snaps. ‘And what about trying to lure your enemies to your side with your body, like she does? How honourable is that, O Noble Prince?’

  ‘It’s not like that!’

  ‘Isn’t it? Maybe not on her part, but her bitch mother is happy to suggest it.’ Bria claps my shoulder. ‘Look, maybe you and she can still be together, if we win this secret war. Unlikely, but who knows? Isn’t that worth fighting for, instead of just giving up and crying your balls off on this fucking freezing mountainside?’

  I stare at her in amazement. ‘Win the war? Is that possible? I thought the most we can hope for is Achaea’s survival.’

  ‘Of course it’s possible. You have to believe, Ithaca. Without hope, no one achieves anything.’

  I hang my head, wondering if I can do this. Perhaps I can… and surely it’s worth trying? ‘But that girl… satyr… nymph thing… Kyshanda will hate me…’

  ‘Why, are you going to tell her or something?’ Bria snorts. ‘You were alone, you were bereft, and that horny little nymph caught you at a weak moment. From what you’re saying, neither you or Kyshanda have considered yourselves together since Dodona anyway. So really, all that happened was that a nature spirit wanting some carefree rumpy-pumpy caught you with your guard down, and you obliged. Big deal.’

  ‘You don’t understand.’

  ‘No, you don’t. Harden up, Ithaca.’

  ‘She wasn’t even human.’

  ‘No, she was more than human – a creature of magic from Hermes’s realm, who came through the hilltop gate looking for some fun. Sadly for her, all she found was misery-guts you.’

  We fall silent, as I reflect on what she’s said. Yes, it does feel better to have talked, and I do feel somewhat less guilty. That doesn’t mean I’m feeling good about any of it, but maybe there are things I can forgive myself for.

  ‘So, you and Telmius?’ I sigh, eventually. ‘Clearly it wasn’t the first time.’

  ‘Ha ha, horny as a goat, that old man,’ she chuckles. ‘We’ve been screwing every night since we left Mycenae. Dirty bastard can’t help himself.’ There’s absolutely no embarrassment on her face at all.

  ‘He’s a satyr!’

  ‘Mmm. And everything you’ve heard about them is true.’

  I roll my eyes. ‘Why does no one know that?’

  ‘Who says no one does? He was born when Hermes possessed a he-goat, reshaped the body to a gorgeous man and seduced an Arcadian shepherdess. It’s the kind of thing that happens in Arcadia all the time. Hermes might look like a skinny weakling when he’s fawning round Zeus, but out here he’s the alpha wolf, gifted with all the wildness, the fecundity, the elemental power of nature this place can bring.’ She gives a little shudder, clearly remembering something that I have no desire to know about. ‘Anyway, it’s something Telmius’s closer friends turn a blind eye to. He’s valuable, and he’s fun to be around.’

  ‘So I see,’ I grumble.

  ‘Don’t worry, it’s just fucking,’ she snorts. ‘You know me, I’m a heartless bitch and nothing distracts me from the real job at hand.’ She stands. ‘Come on, the others will be waiting.’

  I bite my lip, then stand, and before I can prevent her, she gives me a hug. ‘If we can put a knife into Tantalus, things will improve, Ithaca. The prophesies will change, Troy won’t look so scary, and your girlfriend might become a whole lot more accessible.’ Then she pulls away and wrinkles her nose. ‘On the way back, take a quick splash in the pond – you smell of nanny-goat.’

  She peels with laughter and sashays away.

  * * *

  An hour later, we’re back atop the tor with our packs, among the stacked piles of stone. Telmius has traced two interlocking triangles, to form a six-pointed star linking every stone. Diomedes is pale beneath his tanned Adonis face, Laas is fidgeting, the journey into Hades’s realm in search of Helen clearly on his mind; and the four Mycenaeans are exchanging nervous glances. Agrius is wiping sweat from his close-cropped pate, Philapor is praying under his breath, and the two brothers are muttering to each other. Only Telmius and Bria look calm.

  And me, I hope.

  Philapor draws his xiphos, and Telmius gives him a sharp look. ‘No drawn blades, not even an arrow,’ he snaps. ‘I told you before.’ He beckons us all closer, so we don’t miss anything he says. ‘Remember, this is another world we’re entering, adjacent and akin to ours. It will seem peaceful to you, but there are dangers. The woods and pools harbour entities that will seek to take you and devour you, and the berries are not for the likes of you, and nor are all the streams safe. It’s best to keep anything with a blade sheathed, and to consume nothing but what you bring with you, unless I tell you it’s safe.’

  ‘Will the rivers poison us?’ Pseras asks anxiously.

  ‘Some, yes. Others will leave you longing to return here, losing all will to go on in our world. That’s why I’ve told you to fill your water skins. Remember this – the fairer something seems, the more dangerous it likely is. Especially beware any women you see.’ He looks at Bria and laughs, ‘Even you.’

  ‘I’ll try to keep my legs crossed,’ Bria snorts.

  ‘And finally, you are entering this world without Hermes’s knowledge. Keep close behind me and behave as inconspicuously as you can. Do nothing against my will.’

  The Mycenaean champions don’t look happy at all: Philapor prays even harder, and Ceraus and Pseras press their foreheads together, willing themselves on. Not all theioi have seen as much as I have of the supernatural world, even though I’m relatively new to the game. Athena doesn’t have as many theioi as the other gods, so we have to pack more in, I guess.

  I glance at Diomedes, who sets his jaw. ‘My love for Athena will anchor my soul,’ he pronounces. He’s speaking literally: the poor fool really is in love with Athena.

  Telmius raises his voice, stepping to the centre of the stones, and begins to chant.

  ‘Oh great Hermes, child of Zeus and Maia, ruler of Arcadia with its many flocks of sheep, willing envoy to the immortal gods whom Maia bore, that nymph, that modest goddess with beautiful hair who lay coupled in love with Zeus…’

  As his voice rises, it seems to resonate around the stone circle, as if we’re inside a rock chamber or a throne hall, not standing on a windy hilltop. The warmer breeze I caught an echo of last night becomes stronger and more prevalent, blowing the cold wintery mountain air away and replacing it with pastoral scents that tease the nostrils. Merely breathing becomes a pleasure, filling our lungs with wholesomeness.

  ‘Take me to thy realm, Great One,’ Telmius cries, going from stone to stone with his teetering gait, striking each with his staff. ‘Open the way!’ Six times
he calls, and then he returns to the middle and strikes the ground. Light courses from stone to stone, and we gasp, staring about us.

  At his final blow, the world changes. The mountains surrounding us remain the same shape, but only the peaks are snowy, and the lower slopes become a soft verdant swathe. The skies are clear and blue, heat envelops us and we’re instantly bathed in a light sheen of perspiration. Birds call, swooping around us, calling out their joyous songs.

  ‘Blessed Hera,’ Philapor groans, his eyes going wide.

  ‘Be silent,’ Telmius snaps. ‘Do not call upon her name in this realm.’ He’s red-faced from the unseen exertions of working this magic, leaning on his staff and panting, though with a satisfied look on his face as he gazes about him.

  ‘Welcome to my homeland,’ he says grandly.

  I look round, savouring the air, and studying the terrain – it looks a whole lot friendlier now, though we still have a maze of rock to find our way through. ‘What’s the plan from here?’

  Telmius smiles broadly. ‘Through meadows green and forests fair, across merry streams and sombre glades, ever onward, ever glad,’ he says, probably quoting something. Bria smiles fondly, and they exchange a satisfied look.

  ‘If you old people are done with nostalgia, we’ve places we need to be,’ I suggest. Now that Bria has talked some sense into me, I’m anxious to be going, to strike a blow for a future with Kyshanda, one that might be unlikely but is still worth fighting for.

  Telmius squeezes Bria’s hand, then totters down the far side of the tor, on a slope that seems far easier than it appeared yesterday. We all follow him, along a goat-path… or satyr-path, I suppose… that descends in a sweeping arc until we’re heading broadly west into a valley full of flowers that takes us further into the mountains. Telmius has already told us we’ve not shortened the distance to Pisa by doing this, but that paths otherwise blocked by snow or flooding will be open to us, and the weather will remain clement. It’s a boon beyond price.