Shimmering Splendor Read online

  “She asked me for my name.” Eros smiled, wincing as he spread the cracked lip, but the smile remained. “She said she did not wish to think of me as a monster and that people had names. I could not think of any name on the spur of the moment, and one does not usually need to think about one’s own name, so I gave her the word ‘teras’.” Then the smile faded and he looked anxiously at Aphrodite. “But if she said she wished to come back to me, why did she not do so?”

  “That my scryer has not heard, if a reason was ever given. I would say it is merely carelessness. Her sisters envy her bitterly, and she is the focus of much attention. A neighboring king tried to set up her statue as an avatar in my temple. She must be enjoying her notoriety and the days are simply slipping by.”

  Eros had taken back the flask and emptied it. His tongue flicked across his lips, trying to soften the dried skin, but the frown he wore had nothing to do with his physical discomfort. In the past Psyche had not enjoyed the attention she received, but perhaps now that she was free of the fear of a disastrous marriage, she might feel differently.

  “She said she would like to stay a few days to show off her dress and jewels,” he said doubtfully, “but—”

  He was about to say that she had taken very little with her when Aphrodite cut him off.

  “Not to rub salt into an open cut, Eros, but it would be better if you acted your age instead of creating a goddess to worship like a green boy in the throes of his first love. Do try to bring yourself to realize that Psyche is an ordinary native girl with a too-pretty face. I doubt you are as important to her as she is to you, which is why she does not realize you might be suffering in her absence.”

  “That may be true, indeed, Aphrodite,” Eros replied with a sad half-smile, “but you do not understand that in my feeling for Psyche I am no more than a green boy. Old as I am, I am new to love. You are my friend, and dear to me as the breath in my body. But Psyche is the only person I have ever loved in my whole life. She is the breath in my body. Without her I cannot live.”

  Aphrodite shrugged. She did not really think, now that she had snatched him back from the edge of dissolution, that he would let himself slip back. She remembered towing him out of the slough of despond more than once, and most often he had been reasonably cheerful for a time. In fact, he looked brighter now than he usually did when he came up after wallowing in despair. Too bright? Aphrodite wondered uneasily and decided not to make any caustic comments about bathos. He was very old; she did not wish to drive him into proving he was truly in love with some desperate action.

  “Oh, well,” she said, “you know Psyche is weak about her family, and my scryer tells me they have been urging her to stay. Her sisters seem to be jealous of your indulgence and the wealth you lavish on her, and her stupid father thinks he can set her up as a substitute goddess. But it will be easy enough to silence them. I will send a reminder through Hyppodamia that it is time for her to return to you.”

  It would be better to share him with that stupid slut for a time, Aphrodite thought, than to take the chance of losing him altogether. It was impossible for her to conceive of caring for another person so deeply that she would end her life rather than live on alone, but it was also true that the old dote, rather than loving like the young. If Eros was speaking the truth—and certainly she could not remember him ever claiming before this to care deeply for anyone beside herself—then he was beyond a single sharp lesson to make him reject Psyche. She would have to wait until Psyche’s crudity and simplicity began to bore him. And, of course, help his disgust of the stupid girl along any way she could. Forced separation, however, did not seem the way.

  Eros felt no more need to wonder why Aphrodite had bidden her scryer watch Anerios’s palace than he needed to wonder why he had not asked the scryer for news of Psyche. His refusal to ask was for fear of obtaining proof he did not want, and he assumed Aphrodite had told her scryer to watch for his sake, as she had done so much for him for so long. He did have a brief flash of doubt about why Aphrodite had taken so long to tell him Psyche intended to return, but that question was overwhelmed by the far more painful one of whether he should agree to Aphrodite’s suggestion.

  He knew quite well that he should refuse. He knew that if Psyche only came back because her fearful family would no longer keep her, he could never trust her as he had in the past. But he wanted her, he needed her so much. The pain that wrenched him was so constant and so terrible. And why should he not trust her? he asked himself defiantly. If she were thrust out a second time by her family, would she not cling more tightly to him because she had nowhere else to go? Is that what you want? a little voice deep, deep inside asked sadly, but he pretended not to hear.

  The answer he gave was not to that inner doubt but to Aphrodite. “Yes,” he said. “Send for her. I need her.”

  Chapter 14

  The messenger from Hyppodamia carrying Aphrodite’s order that Psyche return to her monster arrived at first light. Anerios came to the women’s apartments himself to wake Psyche and pass along the message. She flushed with joy and relief, believing that Teras had asked Aphrodite to bring her home and that out of fondness for him, and perhaps unwillingness to show herself in a bad light, Aphrodite had given him permission to fetch her as he had when she was “sacrificed”.

  Psyche refused Anerios’s suggestion that a new procession be organized. She knew from the speculative gleam in his eyes that he was already planning a ceremony that would imply she was the mortal form of a goddess returning to her immortal dwelling.

  “You know I am not being sacrificed,” she said sharply. “I am only returning to my home and my husband, and I intend to go today, so there will be no time for any show. There is no need for grave offerings or any more ceremony than you make over my sisters when they return to their own homes from a visit here. I would appreciate an escort to the altar on Mount Pelion, since it is a long way to go alone. Damianos can come with me, but once I am safe there, no one need stay. In fact, it would be better if I were alone when Teras comes.”

  That remark and the faint frown that accompanied it brought a look of concern to her mother’s face, but it soon disappeared. No one could misunderstand the speed and eagerness with which Psyche made ready. Her eyes were bright and her smiles unshadowed as she gave as parting gifts to each of her sisters a gown that sister had admired and to her mother a lovely necklet of pearls set in a lacy froth of gold. She ate with appetite although she hurried the meal along, and she set out with Damianos and two guardsmen with light steps, so swiftly, in fact, that she outdistanced them on the way to the gate and had to wait.

  Psyche made sure that Damianos’s conscience was clear by the late afternoon, when they came to the altar. She wished to leave no grief or doubt behind her, and she showed her eagerness to go in every way she could. In fact, it was no pretense. She had barely been willing to stop at the little village to eat and rest, and when Damianos offered to remain with her at the altar, she kissed him fondly and laughed.

  “Teras will not let anything hurt me,” she said, hurrying uphill, although she was already breathing hard with the exertion. “Likely he will be watching from the shadows, but he might not come out if you were there. He is shy of showing himself because he is very gentle and does not like to frighten anyone.”

  She glowed with joy when she thought of the safe haven of Teras’s arms, the smiling approval of her servants, the sunlit meadows and shadowed forests that were all her own, where no one lay in wait to seize her and no eyes, filled with lust or envy, followed her. That joy only intensified when they reached the peak of the mountain. Convinced that this was what she wanted, Damianos gave Psyche a final hug and lifted her to the altar, turning only once at the edge of the road to wave a final farewell which she returned with a cheerful smile and a wave of her own.

  Psyche had barely prevented herself from making shooing motions instead of waving, and she had to bite her lips to keep herself from calling Teras as soon as her brother’s back
disappeared at the first curve of the road. She busied herself by looking around at the trees that edged the clearing, straining to see a blacker blot within the shadows. Nothing that might be Teras appeared, however, and when she was sure Damianos and the men could not hear her, she called softly, “Teras. Come out now and take me home.”

  No answer came. Psyche shivered a little. The sun had not yet set, but the autumn air was now sharp despite the mildness of the day—or maybe it had not been so mild just that she had been warm with exercise.

  “Teras!” she called more sharply. “Do not tease me. Come and take me home. It will soon be dark, and I am getting cold.”

  Nothing stirred in the woods. No shadow flickered behind the boles of the trees to hint where her husband might be waiting for her.

  “Do not be so silly,” she cried. “I do not care if I see you all black in the light. I am not afraid of you. Your darkness is a light in my heart. Come to me.”

  And when no shadow glided out of the trees, she sobbed, “At least call to me, Teras. I cannot tell where you are to come to you.”

  But Psyche did not really expect to hear the beautiful, beloved voice. She was sure now that Teras, not knowing that she could not invoke the travel spell, had complained of her long absence to Aphrodite. Surely that spiteful, evil bitch had told him she would send a message ordering the ungrateful and disobedient Psyche to return to him—and Aphrodite had sent the message. But Psyche was certain Aphrodite knew she had not the strength to obey. Of course, Aphrodite would not have told Teras that. He will believe I do not wish to return to him, Psyche sobbed; he will believe I do not wish to return, that I would rather defy Aphrodite than continue to live with him.

  Fury briefly overcame despair and Psyche begged desperately for strength. Immediately, a gentle warmth surrounded her. She cupped her hands and a faint glow seemed to fill them. She watched it, eyes so wide the whites showed all around, breath panting through her open mouth. She struggled to give thanks, struggled to drink in the offered strength. Instead she was caught up in a whirlwind of cold terror and inside her the mouth of the well was sealed tight with an ugly cap of ancient fear.

  It did not matter that The History of the Olympians had stated that Olympians were human and mortal, that she knew many Olympian mages could call power to them, that their long lives, their high status, their wealth and power, were owing to their Gifts. A terror ingrained from birth told her she was not an Olympian; she was only a common native girl, and natives who were Gifted and could draw power died.

  Psyche saw the little glow begin to fade. Torn between terror and necessity, she cried, “Dei me exelthein xenodocheionse,” to invoke the translocation spell. The light in her hands disappeared, the slight warmth that had softened the walls of her inner well disappeared, heat was sucked out of her muscles, out of her veins and heart, and sucked and sucked until she fell forward onto the altar, as stiff and cold as the granite slab would be on a midwinter night. It grew dark and darker, as dark as when she was within Teras’s blackness, but that was all warmth and love and this was cold and death.

  * * *

  Because he was too eager, Eros missed the proof that would have reassured him and made nothing of the ambiguous words with which Aphrodite woke him. She was leaning over his bed, laughing, and when he opened his eyes, she told him that Psyche was on her way to Mount Olympus.

  “You certainly put the fear of me into Anerios,” she said, giggling. “He ran all naked to pull Psyche out of bed and send her on her way as soon as Hyppodamia’s messenger arrived.”

  Eros leapt out of bed all naked himself. “She is on her way already? I must go to the lodge to be there when she comes.”

  “What now?” Aphrodite laughed again. “But it will take all day for her to climb the mountain. Eat. Rest. You are far too thin. Do you not wish to be beautiful for the beautiful Psyche?”

  “She will not see me,” Eros said, and disappeared.

  Aphrodite staggered in the backwash of air that rushed to fill the space Eros had occupied when he translocated to the lodge, but she smiled. It was just as well he had not stayed to question the scryer about Psyche’s reaction to the message or to ask her to show him Psyche’s progress. The girl’s delight and eagerness had somewhat shaken Aphrodite’s fixed conviction that Eros would be better off without her. Aphrodite bit her lip gently. She had herself watched in the scryer’s bowl as Psyche left her father’s palace, and the nearly dancing footsteps, the aura of joy about the girl, had lightened her own heart for a moment.

  Then she had reminded herself that Psyche was like a butterfly, alive for one brief summer of joy, then gone.

  Eros must be free of his desire for her before her short life ended or he would follow her into nonbeing. Aphrodite sighed softly over his pain, but she did not regret what she had said. Sooner or later he would think of her words and their implication that Anerios had forced his daughter to go would add to the distrust Psyche’s lingering in Iolkas had generated in him. Suddenly Aphrodite frowned. Why had the girl lingered when she had virtually lit up with joy at being ordered to return to Eros? Then she shrugged. They were very light-minded, the natives. Doubtless Psyche had forgotten all about Eros until she had been reminded.

  * * *

  Having arrived in the garden, Eros gasped with the shock of the cold morning air on his naked body. Then he laughed. He had been in such a hurry that he had not even snatched up a himation to cover himself. Still laughing, he ran into the house and up to his chamber to find suitable clothing. Then he had to go down into the kitchen to dress because it was the only warm room in the house. The servants, of course, had not been told to light braziers to warm the upper rooms.

  Grinning like a fool, he told them Psyche would soon be home and to make all ready for her and to prepare a specially delectable evening meal. He was surprised at the smiles that greeted his words. He would have thought the servants would be resigned or need to conceal irritation, since having Psyche living in the house must make more work for them, but apparently they were delighted to know she was coming back. It was another mote of joy to add to his nearly full cup. His appetite was another. It had been half a moon since his food had tasted of anything but ashes; now a simple breakfast was pure ambrosia—not that he actually cared for the sickly sweet stuff, but it was said to be the food of the gods—and he wolfed down bread and cheese and hot wine and boiled eggs and broiled ham.

  He ate until he was finally full, then went up for his bow. He had scoured the woods clean, but that had been soon after Psyche left. Now he wished to make sure no beast had come back to alarm her. He wanted to be certain nothing at all would make her sorry, even for the briefest instant, that she had returned to the lodge.

  Tracking through the woods in widening spirals that would cover anyplace Psyche was likely to visit took most of the day. Eros found nothing, no spoor, no fumets, except of deer and other harmless creatures. He was about to go home, believing the area free of any danger, when a stirring beyond a thin thicket caught his eye—just such a flicker of movement as Psyche had mentioned. Eros froze, made sure of the wind, and stealthily drew close enough to see.

  To his surprise, he found a young boar. More than a day’s walk south of the broad hollow on the slope of the mountain in which lay the lodge, the garden, and the woods surrounding it was a precipitous drop into a ravine cut by a small river. Beyond the equally steep rise on the other side was a much more gradual slope, densely forested, that led into the valley of Olympus. Although pigs were common in the forest above Olympus, the ravine, which extended for leagues to the east and the west, kept them out of the area around the lodge.

  Eros hesitated, wondering how the animal had found its way into these woods, and then put the puzzle aside while he worked his way, keeping upwind, to where he could get a clear shot. Boars were dangerous, more so than bear, which would avoid humans unless particularly irritated or protecting cubs. They were hard to kill too, being thick skinned, thick boned, and very hard
y.

  Eros preferred to have companions when he went hunting boar, but this one must be killed at once. It might have been the creature Psyche had seen, and if so, it had already wandered relatively close to the lodge and might hurt Psyche if she came upon it unexpectedly.

  Stepping carefully to avoid the crackling of fallen twigs and dry leaves and trying to keep the boar in sight—no easy task, because its coarse gray-brown fur blended so well with the litter on the forest floor—Eros at last found a tree thick enough to shield behind with a space beneath clear enough for him to draw his bow. He came around to where he could see the boar and cursed softly. It was a bad shot; the animal was half under some brush as it rooted in the earth, exposing nothing but its hindquarters. Nocking an arrow, Eros stamped a foot and squealed softly.

  With an angry snort, the boar backed out from under the brush and faced around, ears and tail erect, momentarily still as it looked for its challenger. Eros loosed the arrow and saw it plunge into the neck below the jaw, but no blood burst from nose or mouth and he knew he had missed the big veins in the throat. With a bellow of rage the beast spun around toward the pain. Hoping it was distracted, Eros drew another arrow from his quiver and nocked that as the animal came around full circle. He loosed, aiming for the shoulder, behind which lay the heart, but his movements had attracted the boar’s attention and it charged toward him. Muttering curses over his miss, Eros slipped behind the tree.

  The thud of the boar falling brought him out, but the continual squeals of rage and pain told him that the creature was alive before he saw it. He dropped his bow and drew his knife as he moved, realizing that his second arrow had caught the boar in the hip as it charged at him, Eros ran out, but the beast was already up on three legs and lunged at him, its open mouth showing long, sharp tusks. He leapt right over it, and it tried to whirl around to follow but fell again, giving Eros the opportunity to leap astride rather than over, seize the boar’s snout, and cut its throat.