Thrice Bound Page 2

  "So you agree," Perses said. "I thought you would. I'll give you three days to decide on a method."

  "I'll try for an accident," Hekate whispered, looking up at last, "but I'll need to go to the woods to gather special plants."

  "We have enough in the garden," Perses said.

  Hekate shrugged. "If that is your will, I will use the plants from the garden, but if poisoning is suspected and the king's mages use a spell of concurrence . . ."

  Perses stared at her.

  "In the woods I'll touch nothing with my bare flesh, and I'll burn the gathering basket."

  Her father's stare grew more intense as if he were trying to penetrate the simple puzzlement she was presenting. Why should he stare? she wondered. He knows I have studied some magic, enough to know about spells of concurrence. Does he want me to be caught as a murderer? The last idea, fearful and resentful, seemed to have put Perses' doubts, whatever they were, to rest.

  "Very well," he said smoothly, "you may go, but don't take your mother with you."

  Hekate lowered her gaze to the floor again. Take her mother? she repeated to herself. But her mother didn't seem to know her or want anything to do with her. She made no effort to hide that thought, but below it lay a muted pang of hope. Did Perses suspect there were depths in Asterie where he couldn't reach and somewhere in those depths a concern for her daughter?

  "She knows the plants better than I," Hekate murmured.

  "That's as it may be," Perses said, and Hekate could hear him smiling again, "but she is my warranty that you will return, for if you do not . . ."

  "Where have I to go?" Hekate whispered.

  He laughed aloud at that and bade her take herself out of his sight. She turned at once, stumbled, caught herself on the staff—and then carefully put her foot over the bleached bit of mortar between the stones where the staff had rested. Leaning heavily on the wooden support, Hekate ground dirt into the lighter spot before she hobbled toward the darkness of the passage, but it was no longer dark. Mage lights bobbed along the wall and up the stair. A reward for being compliant? Hekate allowed herself to feel gratitude, but didn't move any faster; nor did she allow herself to slip back into the woman until she was safe in her own chamber.

  Not that her father could not scry her there, he could, but what she would do would be natural in her own chamber and he would assume, she hoped, that because he was no longer willing her to act, his spell would release her. The change swept over her, bringing a sensation that was almost erotic. Her skin, now smooth and soft, could feel the caress of her silk gown. Of course, her tenderer flesh also felt the bruises Perses' blows had inflicted. Nonetheless, Hekate could see better, hear better, and despite an awareness of draining and exhaustion, the well-being of youth sang in her veins. She smiled, stretched, not hiding her pleasure in her most natural shape, reinforcing the notion that she wouldn't willingly exchange it for the hag if she could avoid the change.

  Now she dropped the staff carelessly in a corner, as if no longer needing its support, she dismissed it. Then she sat down and thought about the queen of Byblos, dredging up her dislike of all she had heard of the woman. She thought of what an old woman could do to murder a young one without a weapon. Without a weapon? Her gaze went to the staff. There was a weapon and most appropriate for an aged crone.

  She let her mind play with this plan and that, seeking reasons for an old woman to appeal for an audience with the queen, reasons good enough to obtain such an audience. The mental exercise kept her busy and hid any other thoughts until the worst of her exhaustion passed. She didn't question why she was exhausted; whenever she was near her father she lost strength as if she were ill.

  Twice she rose from her chair, once to wash carefully and to change her dress for a gown of rougher fabric with long, loose sleeves, and once again to take a handful of sugared dates from a bowl on a low table. Both times she had felt cautiously for a watcher, but the presence had faded some time during her ruminations on how to gain access to the queen and did not return.

  Even so Hekate did not relax completely, thinking carefully of what herbs she would need and how to gather them. First, however, she would need a new basket, not one that belonged to the household, and she must not touch anything. Hekate took a long shawl from a chest near the wall, keeping in mind that it could be used to hold the basket and to cover her hands while she culled the plants she needed.

  She must buy the basket. Hekate went to a shelf built out from the wall by setting in several wider bricks. A softly murmured word changed a statue of the sacred bull to a small metal-bound box. A second word caused the lid to spring open. From the box Hekate scooped a large handful of metal wire and a few pieces of metal. Most of it slid imperceptibly into her wide sleeve. She picked over what she still held, choosing five twists of copper wire of varying weight and length. The remainder she returned to the box, which again appeared like a winged bull as she replaced it on the shelf. On her way out, she picked up the staff.

  Throwing the shawl over her head so that one end was longer than the other and could be drawn across her face, Hekate again crossed the reception chamber. This time she went directly out through it into the courtyard and then passed through a room that held several benches and stools upon which messengers could wait under the eye of the doorkeeper. One bench now held two young slave boys, who would carry messages within the house. Pulling her shawl aside, Hekate winked at them and then passed close enough to drop several of the sweetmeats in each slyly extended hand. One giggled, the other looked down to hide a smile.

  The doorkeeper was something else again. The old man turned his dead eyes to her when she entered the chamber in which he was chained, but Hekate didn't bother to speak to him. Whatever lived in that body no longer responded to kindness even though the body was still quite human enough to require food and drink and sleep. It knew her and that no order had been given to keep her within; whether it had the power of thought beyond dealing with such matters and with visitors and messengers, she could not guess.

  Down three broad steps to the wide path that passed through the garden and out to the road. To right and left were other paths through the garden, which led to the fields her father's slaves tilled. Beyond those the dark groves of cedars rose up the slope of the hills and whispered and murmured to each other in the dawn and the evening.

  As she stepped out of the house, Hekate felt the watcher descend on her almost like a muffling cloak. She had expected that. Ordinarily her father didn't bother to set a watcher on her, but having spoken to her about the murder of the queen of Byblos, this time he would want to know if she met any person in particular or dealt with anyone he might construe as an enemy. Fortunately she saw no one who was even a nodding acquaintance on her walk to the town.

  The road was steep, Ur-Kabos having been built on a small plateau where a substantial stream, almost a river, poured down through the foothills of the mountains that rose behind the town. Hekate leaned on her staff and paused briefly to glance at the mountains. That was the best place for herbs, she thought, then brought her attention to the open gate in the walls, behind which the market spread right and left and then along the road that led deeper into the town, to the palace and the temples. The watcher seemed to close around her; in one way its touch was feather light—had she herself not been Gifted, doubtless she would never have noticed its presence—but knowing it was there stifled her.

  Sometimes the press of people and the noise—merchants shouting to attract customers, customers chaffering, children squealing, women gossiping—also stifled her, accustomed as she was to quiet and being alone, but this time one pressure negated the other. The watcher—not Perses scrying; this must be one of his otherplanar slaves—seemingly had no experience with noise and crowding; it was bewildered or diverted by the confusion. Its grip on Hekate grew tenuous, but she was careful to suppress any feeling of relief.

  Baskets were plentiful. Hekate went from stall to stall, apparently seeking the cheapest
product—logical if the basket was to be destroyed. Each time someone spoke to her or bumped her Hekate could feel the watcher's attention waver and sometimes even fix on someone else. Nor did it cling so heavily around her when it returned. It seemed to be pulled this way and that, attracted to all the minds and souls moving around her. Shielded by others, she at last allowed her true thoughts to surface.

  As she looked and asked prices of baskets, she thought that killing the queen was not the problem. The queen of Byblos deserved to die and Hekate knew herself capable of stopping the woman's life without need of poison. Not that she would ever do such a thing at her father's bidding or allow him to know she was capable of it. But marry and bed the king? Hekate's lips turned down as bile rose in her throat. Never! He and his queen deserved each other.

  How to avoid killing the queen and marrying the king was a far greater problem than killing them. Hekate began to turn away from a stall that showed beautifully designed and woven baskets. The merchant called to her, drew her back; she shook her head, saying regretfully that she had not the money for such fine work and showing in her hand three of the five small pieces of copper wire she had taken with her.

  "Ah, but I have just what will suit us both," the merchant said, drawing from the bottom of the stall a long basket that was of coarser weave and less perfect ornament. "Apprentice work," he said. "I am sure you can find about you something else that I could use. Another piece of copper, that handsome shawl you are wearing. Come, come, you have a purse. Look into it. Perhaps there is a hairpin or comb?"

  Hekate shook her head. "Why should I give up my shawl or comb? I am only looking for a coarse basket to carry unwashed roots and such matters. What you show me is pretty, but not suitable for my purpose."

  "Oh, you must have an old basket in the house that you could use to carry your roots. This one . . ."

  He continued talking, lifting and twisting the basket so that Hekate could see it inside and out. The words became meaningless to her because a strip of light-colored material tucked into the coarsely woven withies had caught her eye. A scrap of parchment? She felt no change in the watcher, but she fixed her gaze on the merchant's face and for a little while continued to argue price, finally allowing herself to be convinced and to seek in her purse for a fourth piece of copper wire, which she handed over grudgingly. Equally grudgingly the merchant accepted the additional metal, whining about how she was cheating him.

  At last, Hekate took the basket, carefully dropping her long sleeve over her hand so her flesh would not touch the handle. With it in hand, she continued to wander about the market for a time, looking idly at a tray of knives. A long poniard with a blade so thin it was more like a flat needle than a knife attracted her attention and she picked it up with her hand shielded by her long shawl. Put in just where the head meets the neck, under the hair, it would kill and likely no one would ever find the small wound. She put it down, saying "Perhaps tomorrow, I do not have the price now," to the merchant who had hurried over.

  Then she went to look at the herb-sellers' wares, but over those, she mostly shook her head. However, there were some strange bundles that came, the seller said, from far west, over the sea. She expended the fifth twist of copper wire on a handful of each type she did not recognize and had the merchant drop the sprigs, tied with a thread of bright wool, into the new basket. When she looked in as if to check that what she had bought was all there, the slip of parchment was covered.

  Finally she walked slowly out of the market, looking from side to side at the stalls. After she passed under the gate, she quickened her pace and when she was past most of the crowd and obviously headed toward Perses' house, the touch of the watcher was suddenly gone.

  CHAPTER 2

  Hekate continued to walk toward her father's house with an unvarying pace after the watcher left her until she reached a tongue of the forest of cedars that bordered his lands. Here she stopped and sat down in the shade with her back against the trunk of a tree, resting the staff across her lap. After a few minutes she allowed her eyes to close. After a few more minutes she carefully thought of nothing, of utter blackness. She waited, but there came to her no sense of the watcher probing for her and, still thinking of utter blackness, she rose and sidled off between the trees.

  Although she had never before sought the silent shrine from the direction of the road, she had no trouble finding it. A thin thread of light? warmth?—not something she could truly see or feel but very real to her—led her onward through the trees. Sooner than she expected, she found the place where, for no reason at all, there was a space in which nothing except a soft odd-smelling moss grew. The odor was not unpleasant, being sharp and spicy, but it was not like anything else and the moss would grow nowhere else.

  In the center of the open area was a very tall stump. Perhaps in the very distant past it had been carven; if so, time had smoothed away the marks so that the barest suggestion of a rounded head sat atop narrow, sloping shoulders. Possibly some of the irregularities over the front and back of the figure had been meant to show the folds of a gown. Perhaps not. The stump could have been a natural formation and she was imagining that the marks were the work of ancient worshipers.

  Natural or carved by hands, what could not be mistaken was the sense of welcome, of protection, that enveloped the moss-grown clearing. Whether or not the stump was a made image of the Mother, She was here. Hekate breathed a long sigh of relief, crossed the clearing quickly, and rested her staff against the image. There was a quiver in the power around her and then it steadied.

  She stared at the staff and the stump, but there was no change in either—and a question that had lingered in the back of her mind had been answered. If the staff had been some device of her father's, bespelled to record what she did, drain power from her, or mark her for her father's scrying or his creatures' finding, it was so no longer. Now it was either a simple wooden staff or a vessel for her filling.

  Sighing again, Hekate crouched down at the foot of the stele, the bands of muscle that had held her shoulders rigid since her father laid his will upon her relaxing. She then emptied the bundles of herbs out of the basket and carefully pulled the scrap of parchment free of the withies.

  The writing, so small that Hekate had to lift the scrap closer to her eyes, was undoubtedly her mother's. However, each symbol was formed painfully, clearly made with terrible effort. Asterie must have fought with all her strength against both physical weakness and magical coercion to write the message. And how had she gotten it into the basket?

  Hekate knew that Asterie often went to the market. Apparently Perses did not bother to scry her or set a watcher on her because he was so confident (more confident than he should have been it seemed) of his control over her. Even so, how had she ever managed to bespell the merchant to get the basket into her daughter's hands? Now she thought of it, Hekate realized that the merchant's behavior had not been natural.

  She blinked back tears. Asterie must have been hoarding tiny scraps of power, saving them in some artifact she could hide from Perses . . . perhaps for years. All the time Hekate had believed her mother no longer knew her, no longer cared, Asterie had been gathering strength and will for one final effort to save her daughter. The tears welled over Hekate's lower lids and streaked her cheeks. Why had she been so cruel as to abandon her mother? She had not even continued to greet Asterie, to kiss her even if she did not respond.

  Hekate read the message again. "Coercion spell. Suck power. Flee or die."

  Hekate stared at the little scrap. So Perses had decided to use a coercion spell on her even if she did his will. She shivered. She had really known that but had been unwilling to acknowledge it. Flee? Where? Where could she go, alone and on foot, that her father's creatures, paid human or otherplanar, could not reach her and drag her back?

  She was safe here . . . No, she was not. The otherplanar things would not dare this clearing—Hekate had learned all her magic here, how to cast spells, how to build new spells, and Per
ses and his creatures had never sensed the magic or pierced the protections—but the armed men would care nothing for the Mother's protection. Or even if they did, there was nothing here to eat or drink; they would surround the clearing and take her when she was forced out by thirst and hunger.

  Suddenly there were two other marks on the parchment. Hekate swallowed. More magic from her mother's tiny store, for those symbols had not been there when she first looked. The spell that released them would have been set to respond to some sign of her distress, perhaps the rhythm of her breathing or the damp of her fingers reacting to her fear.

  The first was an odd mark at which she stared for a while before she remembered that her mother had made her memorize it, although it accorded with no word or sound in their language; it was a symbol of where her father's enemies lived: Olympus. The other Hekate recognized easily. She shivered again. It was the priests' mark for the caves of the dead.

  For a moment a dreadful suspicion seized her. Could this message be a trap laid by her father? The caves of the dead were not a burial ground; they were the places where the Gifted or scapegoats or condemned folk were sacrificed to the king of the dead at the spring and autumn equinoxes. The sacrifices were bound and delivered to the caves on the last day of the two great festivals together with rich offerings of metal and cloth and sometimes food and wine. Had Perses forced her poor mother to write that message? Did he intend to be rid of his daughter by having her dragged into the underworld?

  A moment later, the fingers that had tensed to tear the message to shreds, touched it gently instead. No, he would never have included the symbol for Olympus, if he even knew it. He was truly terrified of the dwellers in that city. Nor was it the time of either equinox festival, and it was long established that the king of the dead or his minions accepted human sacrifice at no other times. No, Perses would not risk offending the king of the dead by a mistimed sacrifice; he was possibly more afraid of the god of the underworld than of the Olympians. Besides, she would not be bound by sacrificial cords and could escape the caves.