DOWN BY THE waterside Myrina whistled up Big Chief who, though he had been resting, came to her willingly, just snorting a little and shaking the sleep from his long sand-colored mane. Did his new friend really wish to go riding in the dark? His fine animal senses quickly told him that she was upset and his nose might sting again if he didn’t obey.
Myrina leaped onto his back and rode away from the camp in the moonlight, her mind buzzing with troubling questions. It seemed that there were no satisfactory answers, and she was desperate to get away from the others, to have a good think.
Once they’d left the camp behind, she allowed the horse to wander where he willed; she was too exhausted to direct him. Big Chief slowed and stopped in the shelter of a rock that gave good protection from the cold wind. Myrina heaved a huge sigh and sat there on his back, her eyelids drooping. She needed this distance and quietness. Never had her friends argued with her so determinedly. Yes, they often spoke up honestly and gave their opinion, but never had they challenged her wisdom like this.
Myrina felt weary to the bone; she longed for peace. A hard, bitter lump seemed to be growing in her throat. It was a choking lump of misery that she knew could only be shifted by a great outpouring of tears. But Myrina did not weep for herself these days. Quiet anger had spurred her on through this hard struggle; she could not afford the luxury of self-pity.
She lifted her head and gazed across the bleak landscape, suddenly realizing how much she missed the lush green valleys of the Mazagardi traveling lands. She longed for the sight of the spring flowers that grew on the lower slopes of Mount Ida, and even for the sea of marsh-watered fennel stalks that reared their heads across the plain of Troy.
As Myrina sat stock-still on Big Chief’s back, a slight movement in the bushes to her right caught her eye. Instantly alert, she instinctively reached for her bow; if it was a deer or a wild boar she must take her chance to shoot it. They still needed every bit of meat they could find, and up on the Big Chief’s back she had a fine vantage point.
As she raised her bow and narrowed her eyes to take aim, she gasped, catching a gleam of gold. It was the glitter of a golden wristband. She slowly lowered her weapon, understanding with a rush of irritation that it must be one of the young horsemen. She could see the dark shape of his shoulders and thought that it must be the tall one that Fara admired. Then she saw that he was not alone—Fara was with him.
Myrina slipped down from Big Chief’s back and crept forward, keeping herself well covered by the rocks and undergrowth. She held her breath, watching to see what they were about. There was no mistaking it: the young man’s companion was Fara; her long fair hair blew in the breeze, touched with silver in the moonlight.
The two young people seemed to be sitting side by side in the darkness, not touching, though their faces were close. Then slowly, as Myrina watched, Fara held up her hand, the palm flat and open. The young man hesitantly raised his own hand, his thick wristband gleaming again; he pressed it against the girl’s palm.
“Hand,” Fara said, her voice firm and clear.
“Ha-and.” The young man tried to copy her, but his sounds came out awkwardly. Then suddenly his voice took on a clear, confident tone as he spoke again. “Dala.”
“Dala.” Fara repeated the word with ease.
Myrina watched and listened.
“Turxu.” The young man pulled his hand away to tap his own chest.
“Turxu,” Fara repeated, stretching her hand out to touch him. Then she tapped her own chest and spoke her name. “Fara.”
The young man touched her hair and Myrina could see that his fingers trembled. “Fa-ara.” His voice shook, too. Then he murmured, “Leipo!”
Fara’s voice was warm with amusement. “No—Fara!” she corrected.
“Fara, leipo,” he insisted.
“Very well . . . Fara leipo,” she said. They sat together in silence.
As she watched and waited, Myrina’s anger fled. Why had she been so furious? She recognized the word for hand that the boy had used. It was similar to a tongue that she had heard long ago among the brave Scythian warriors who had gone like her and Penthesilea to defend the city of Troy. She recognized the word leipo, too—it meant “beloved.” It was a respectful word that a Scythian warrior might use for his god, his child, or his wife.
She backed away quietly and returned to Big Chief. There was something very private and intimate in those simple gestures of trust and she’d suddenly felt that she was intruding.
“Fool!” she muttered to herself. “What have you come to? Spying on young lovers!”
The images that had filled her mind when she first heard of Fara’s absences were lurid and earthy compared to the gentle, trusting exchange she had witnessed. Quietly she led Big Chief away, her own thoughts flying back to a time long ago when she’d made her own first awkward admissions of love to Tamsin’s father.
Tomi was a courageous young Mazagardi who’d been killed as the Moon Riders escaped from the stricken city of Troy. He’d given up his life to see Myrina and her friends safely away. Throughout her childhood she’d traveled with her tribe from place to place, Tomi always at her side. They’d learned to ride together, learned to shoot together, and in the evenings by the campfire she’d leaned against his strong, muscular back for warmth. There in the darkness she began to understand the bitter anger that had suddenly blazed out at her friends. She longed desperately for Tomi’s strong back to lean on now.
How could she be angry with Fara? The truth was, the young men who brought them gifts reminded her of Tomi and his friends and therein lay the hurt and pain.
Big Chief stopped by a clump of well-watered grass. She let him drop his head to crop at it, while loneliness swept over her. She remembered the last time she’d heard Tomi’s voice. “Ride!” he’d shouted. “Ride for your lives!”
She hadn’t looked back—she’d done as he said and led the slave women to freedom. Since then she had been so busy trying to keep everyone safe, when had she truly grieved for Tomi? Now, with raw, heart-wrenching pain, she felt his loss again. She knew just how lonely she’d been for that special kind of companionship. It had been all too brief; their marriage had only lasted for a few days.
“It wasn’t fair,” she cried out loud. A great rush of grief and pain made her fall to her knees and crouch there on the dark hillside, sobbing wildly.
Big Chief stopped feeding for a moment and whickered with concern, but as her weeping began to subside he returned to his search for grass.
As she dried her eyes she saw a glint of water close by. “Iphigenia,” she murmured, “I wish that you were here with me.”
She moved toward the moonlit pool and the bright reflection of the moon. It would be difficult in this cold, rocky place to find the ease of body and mind that she would need to let her eyes gaze through and beyond the water’s inky blackness.
“I need you, dear friend,” she whispered, and at last her shoulders eased and her eyelids drooped. Her breathing slowed and as she looked through the darkness, she saw that there were tiny pinpricks of light; reflections of the stars shimmering in the water’s black gleam.
“Iphigenia,” she whispered. Then the tiny lights seemed to move about the dark surface and gather together, forming strange, blurry shapes that suddenly clarified into something recognizable. “Iphigenia—dear friend!”
She spoke her name and she was there. Deep in the dark silver depths of the pool she saw the shape of the Achaean princess. Iphigenia’s long dark hair was loose and she wore a silver crown above her brow. Servants bowed low before her, offering her fruits on a silver plate.
“Princess!” Myrina murmured. “You are a princess once again!”
She watched her friend for a few moments, cheered to see her well and cared for. Then the cold and weariness cut through her vision and brought her back to the dark, grassy hills and Big Chief waiting patiently for her.
She gave a great sigh of relief. This place was good—she would come up here again when she needed a bit of peace. Why was she making a hard life even more difficult? She must think carefully and kindly about the future of the young women in her care. She had lost much, but they still had their lives to live.
The camp was quiet when she returned, apart from the movement of the animals and the distant snorting of resting horses down by the stream. Two lookouts saluted her as she passed them, but they said nothing. Then Myrina saw that her closest friends still sat together, shoulders hunched and tense, talking quietly. They turned at the sound of Big Chief’s hooves and got up.
Myrina slid down from the horse’s back and sent him to join his many wives with a gentle slap on his hindquarters. She went straight to the Moon Riders with her arms open wide; they cried out with joy and hugged her tightly in turn.
“I could not sleep.” Kora’s voice was warm with affection. “I am so sorry—I should never have said what I did.”
“No.” Myrina smiled. “You were right, but I could not see it. You have spoken the truth, though it hurt; sometimes that is what a true friend has to do. Where is Tamsin?”
“Tamsin is fast asleep; Phoebe settled her down,” Akasya told her.
Myrina took Coronilla by the arm. “I have been remembering things that I should never have forgotten. Tomorrow we will take council and all the women shall have their say and everyone will be listened to.”
“Well done, Snake Lady!” Coronilla said.
They all went to their beds and slept a deep, peaceful sleep that healed their hurts and restored their energy.