Shimmering Splendor Page 23

  Her first reaction was to wonder whether he was tiring of her, and she listened to him more intently, found excuses to keep her hands on him so she could feel the tensions and relaxations in his body. She began to regret that she could not see his face because it was much harder to discover what a person felt when you could not read his expression. And then she wondered whether his face looked so monstrous that no expression could be read on it. Unfortunately that made her aware, which she had not been in a long time, of the cloud of darkness she could not pierce and gave her a reluctance to have it envelop her.

  Her slight withdrawal sparked so quick and vehement a response in Teras that Psyche’s question was answered. He was not tiring of her; no man who was growing indifferent would have sensed the little discomfort she felt. And the questions he asked, the accusations he made, clarified the problem. She now realized that the fragile belief he had cherished that she truly loved him, truly wanted to live with him for the rest of her life, had been severely damaged by her eager acceptance of a chance to visit Iolkas and the long delay in her return.

  That Teras knew she had needed to free herself from the guilt she felt about her family, that he knew she did not have enough power to invoke the translocation spell, was irrelevant. Knowledge in the head was no poultice for a wounded heart. She learned from a bitter explosion in reply to her anxious questions, that what haunted Teras was that she had been willing to leave him at all and that she had not returned on her own but had delayed until an order from Aphrodite had made her family unwilling to harbor her longer. There was nothing rational in his accusations; she knew it and he knew it too, because he gathered her into his arms and apologized as soon as the words were out, but irrational as it was, the hurt remained.

  Looking back over the months, Psyche realized she had hurt him again and again. What had been an innocent truth to her was a painful reproach to him: when he asked whether she were still lonely, for example, she had readily admitted she was. She was sure she had also told him that her sojourn in Iolkas had taught her that the mere presence of others could not provide companionship. Possibly she had also told him that she was happier in the lodge with him than she could be anywhere else with anyone else…and said lightly, as she had said everything during that euphoria, the words would only have confirmed the doubts eating away at Teras’s belief that she loved him for what he was, just as he was.

  As the sun moved toward the spring equinox, Psyche tried to soothe his hurt, to bolster his shaken belief that he was worthy of love, no matter his appearance. The only result was a series of bitter quarrels in which Teras alternately blamed her for waking him from a peaceful kind of death-in-life to endless suffering and cursed himself for being unable to cast off the idea that because she was a captive she painted a false picture of pleasure over her loathing.

  Had Psyche not been by then as emotionally distraught as her lover, she would have had sense enough to box his ears and point out with asperity that sniveling captives did not argue, screaming at the top of their lungs, with the masters they feared. Instead, aloud she begged Teras to tell her how to prove she loved him and did not fear him, and in silence she cursed every day, every hour, she had spent in Iolkas, cursed herself fruitlessly for not listening to her sisters when they urged her to return to her monster at once. The fools had thought she lingered because she found Teras horrible and they told her to dispel the darkness and… Dispel the darkness and look upon him as he truly was! And still take him in her arms and into her bed. Surely that would convince Teras that she loved him. Surely it would, if she could do it.

  Chapter 15

  The bitter question of whether she had been lying to herself for most of her life and truly believed that outer beauty was worthless compared to the inner being made Psyche more miserable. She saw that Teras felt her doubts and fears but this time she dared not explain what was troubling her. Then she began to wonder whether Teras had lied to her about only having the appearance of a monster. Was he truly a monster? Did the spell of darkness only conceal him, or did it also made her feel a normal man when what she touched was far fouler than any natural beast?

  Once that horrible thought came into her mind, Psyche knew she could not live with it. She must know the truth, for good or ill. She prayed she would be strong enough to embrace whatever Teras was, knowing as she did his essential goodness and kindness. She promised herself that the sweetness they had shared in the joining of their bodies, the laughter, the work, the talk, would cover with beauty whatever dreadful form he bore.

  With her new knowledge of the mental image of spells, she began to seek out the magic that caused the cloud of darkness. It was not long before she sensed a kind of delicate shimmer—that oil-on-water play of shifting color—that overlaid the features, body, and limbs, even each individual hair her fingers knew so well. The fact that what she felt beneath the shimmer was her dear, familiar Teras, gave her confidence. He had told the truth: whatever horror she saw with her eyes would only be a seeming. When she closed her eyes after she banished the cloud of blackness, surely, surely what she would touch would be Teras, and if that were so, she could—she would—love him.

  During the lengthening days when she was alone, she reviewed all the spells she knew and combed the book room for books on magic where she found other spells. Unfortunately, none would serve her purpose. She found spells of invisibility, spells for casting a glamor of beauty and for a glamor of ugliness, but no spell for darkness nor any counterspell that would banish darkness. When she reached the end of the book room’s resources, she could think of nowhere else to look. Besides, there really was no time to look further; Teras was growing increasingly unhappy and suspicious. She must either tell him what she had intended to do and abandon the idea, or she must cast a counterspell.

  To cast a counterspell, you must have one. Still undecided about what she would do, Psyche began with the counterspell for invisibility she had found in the book room and added a phrase from a simple household spell she knew that banished dirt. She wove the two together and one day, after another senseless quarrel had sent Teras flying from her bed long before morning, cast the spell. She half expected that it would fall apart and lash her with prickles of undirected energy—an experience with which she had become very familiar from her early studies of magic.

  To her surprise, that did not happen: the spell formed just as it should and settled quietly against the wall of her well, quite near the mouth. The droplet that contained it seemed a little larger and brighter than spells she had cast in Iolkas or even those she had cast just for the purpose of transferring them to Teras, but Psyche assumed it was because the major part of the spell, devised by an Olympian mage, was better than the ones her native teacher knew.

  That minor puzzle disappeared from her awareness when Teras returned very early, very apologetic for his senseless fury. In fact for nearly a week Teras seemed so much happier that Psyche put the whole dangerous subject of removing the spell of darkness out of her mind. She was also aware that if it did not work, the backlash would hurt her; she had had unpleasant experiences with failed spells when she had been a novice and had mispronounced a word or made the wrong gesture. This time, she had used a simple phrase, but if the spell was not appropriate to its purpose, it would fail and she would suffer.

  The spring equinox came. Psyche was not particularly aware of the day, but Teras mentioned it, warning Psyche not to be surprised if Demeter and her daughter Persephone came themselves to bless the garden. And then, idly, he told her the tale of the abduction of Kore, who was now Persephone. Psyche listened, smiling, for there was a kind of parallel between her experience and Persephone’s, until Teras’s voice suddenly changed.

  “She fought to come back to Hades,” he said coldly. “She drugged her mother and half killed Poseidon to escape their keeping and return to her husband. Later she would have killed Poseidon for endangering Hades if Hades had not stopped her. She has given up Olympus, the light of the sun, and every jo
y of the upper world, except for a few weeks in the spring, to live in the dark of Plutos—because she loves Hades.”

  “And I love you!” Psyche cried. “Tell me what you desire that I give up to prove I love you. Tell me!”

  But he did not tell her. He simply stood up and went away and never came to her bed at all that night.

  More than a week passed, and Psyche was near despair; he had never before stayed away from her for more than a night. Most of the time she was stupid with misery, dull from lying awake all night praying to hear his step on the stair. She often slept very late, having lost any purpose for her daylight hours, which she endured like a tortured beast, unthinking, almost uncomprehending, huddled in on herself. However, one morning, very early, she was wakened by a slamming door, a shutter crashing wide. She ran to the window, breathless with hope that Teras had come at last, only to bite her lips over the sight of two women in the garden.

  Both were very lovely. Half asleep still and aware only of her bitter disappointment, Psyche was sure for a moment that they had come to take her place as Teras’s lovers. Before real thought could replace fearful instinct, Psyche looked deep to see what had won Teras’s favor. Inside one was a well of gentle green; inside the other— Terrified, Psyche drew back so the wall of her chamber would conceal her. Inside the taller and more beautiful woman was a volcano of power, red and deep brown and every shade of blood and the earth, roiling and bubbling, rich with the smell of fecundity.

  Psyche drew a deep breath. Here were no rivals but Demeter and Persephone, who had come, as Teras had warned her, to bless the garden. Gathering her sleep-dazed wits, Psyche wondered why they should bother with a little plot mostly used to feed Aphrodite’s servants, and she peered out cautiously to see what they were doing. She took courage when she saw how gently, lovingly, Persephone smiled at Demeter. Teras had not got far enough in the story to tell her whether mother and daughter were reconciled. And then, with her mind’s eye, Psyche saw that a trickle of power, just a gentle streamlet of richness and warmth, flowed out of the volcano to feed the soft, green magic.

  Transfixed with wonder, Psyche leaned out the window and heard Persephone speak in a pleasant, musical voice. “For the goodness she has brought between us, mother,” Persephone said, giving Demeter a kiss, “do not forget to double the blessing on Aphrodite’s field.”

  “I will never forget that,” Demeter answered, and not only cast her blessing, but walked the field from border to border to spread her magic more deeply into the earth.

  It was the last thing Psyche wished to hear. She drew back, convinced that Teras’s agony was all her fault. If she did not so senselessly hate Aphrodite, she could have gone to her temple and begged the priestess for help. Clearly not only Teras loved Aphrodite. She had told herself that it was because Teras was a man that he was blind to Aphrodite’s faults. But here were women, and women of power, who also cared for Aphrodite and spoke of her goodness. Psyche’s conviction that Aphrodite’s beauty covered only meanness and evil was shaken, but her injustice to Teras’s friend could not hold her thoughts for long.

  The distraction of Persephone’s and Demeter’s presence and the shock of perceiving Persephone’s power had prodded Psyche out of her dull quiescence. Her thoughts reverted to Teras, but now they were truly thoughts rather than a numb despair. She clung to the knowledge that he cared for her, that his absence was out of a fear that she did not return that caring. She almost slipped into the slough of despond again when she considered how impossible it was to prove that she did care, but a sudden spurt of fury over her helplessness saved her. She would prove it, even if she had to split Teras’s thick skull to pour in the idea.

  Tears stung her eyes. She had to be able to reach Teras if she wanted to prove anything to him. If she wanted to see someone in Iolkas she could send a message, but here… And then her eyes widened in revelation and she laughed aloud. Why not send a message? If she sent Teras a message begging him to come, he must believe she wanted him. She ran down to the storeroom where the old menservants were readying the tools for planting now that the field had been blessed.

  “I must send a message to Teras,” she said. “One of you must take it to Olympus, to…”

  Her voice faded as she saw the expressions of horror, the violent head shaking, that rejected her demand. One of the men made frantic signs at her, pointing to himself and then to the floor. And then he pointed south, in the direction of Olympus, and shook his head again, even more violently. She could guess easily what that meant: the servants were not allowed to leave, and even more specially were forbidden to go to Olympus. She turned away before they could sign that she, too, must stay at the lodge. She suspected it was so, but she did not wish to see the signs.

  As she climbed the stairs, the idea that had leapt into her mind and made her turn her back so as not to know what she intended to do was forbidden took firmer hold. If Teras did not come to her, she would go to him. The trouble was that she had no idea how far Olympus was, and this was a bad time of year to travel through the wild. She could carry food enough for a few days, but after that she would need to live off the land and so early in the spring there would be little to find.

  Still, she could not resist setting out her weapons, the bow, the arrows, the light javelin, the long knife and short sword. She got her pack, the one she carried when she planned to be in the forest for a full day. It was a good size to make room for the plants she gathered, some of which should not be crushed. There would be room for food, for a change of dress and an extra pair of shoes, in case she should get wet, and she would need a blanket. The pack would be heavy at first, but it would lighten as she ate her supplies.

  Psyche smiled, feeling at peace for the first time in moons. She had discovered a way to prove her love. Teras feared that she pretended passion because she was a helpless slave, that she stayed with him because she had nowhere else to go. But if she left the lodge and went to Olympus, would that not prove that she was not helpless and could go anywhere she wished, but chose to come to him?

  That thought cheered her so much that she turned out her clothes chest, seeking an extra set of coarse, warm garments to pack. At the very bottom was a small box; opened, it showed a packet of carefully folded silk. Puzzled, she drew it out and unfolded the cloth, and then stared dumbstruck at the stained piece of cloth within. Teras’s blood! She remembered now that night so long ago when he had given her the token that could enforce her will upon him.

  What was she to do with it? She dared not destroy it because she was not sure whether that would hurt him. She was afraid to leave it behind, lest someone find it and somehow sense it was his. And then she realized it might be a lifeline for her. If she should become hopelessly lost or trapped, surely she could cast a simple calling spell, and holding that token, draw Teras to her. That could not hurt him. She refolded the token in its covering and placed it in the pack.

  Feeling even more cheerful now that she had an assurance that she could summon Teras to get her out of trouble, she made a list of what she would need—things she might forget because she did not take them for a day in the forest, like a comb and the powder she used to clean her teeth—and she propped the list against the pack beside the quiver of arrows. She could add to it as thoughts came to her.

  It was dark by the time she finished and the little quiver of hope that began every evening when the light failed had died. The aching longing that made each heartbeat slow and heavy, the pain in her throat that made it hard to swallow, fixed more firmly in her mind her intention of doing something, anything, rather than wait forever in misery.

  Thus, Psyche made a very good evening meal. She would need her strength and might not dare to fill her stomach again for many days. She even took a plate full of small cakes up to her room, thinking that she might eat them if she woke in the night. She had lost weight, for despair had dulled her appetite. Now every ounce of fat she could restore would help her on her way. Her eyes flicked over the pack
and weapons; her lips thinned and her jaw thrust forward. She would not wait, weeping, for Teras tonight. She would go to bed and sleep. And tomorrow she would leave.

  So, of course, Teras came. And Psyche was asleep. She had been afraid that to say she would sleep and to do so would be far different things; however, although her mind seemed busy, planning what she would do if the servants objected to the large amount of food she wished to pack and then laying out the course she would take, it was really at peace. The uneasy hoping against hope that had kept her awake for many nights was over, and the combination of fatigue and the relief decision brings sent her deeply asleep.

  To Eros, who had finally decided that absenting himself longer from what he desired more than breathing was accomplishing nothing—neither curing his desire for Psyche nor presenting to him any idea that would cure his doubts of her—the clear signs that she intended to leave the lodge were like a contemptuous slap in the face. He might have assumed she merely intended to go gathering, although it was very early in the spring for that, had it not been for the note so prominently displayed.

  Even before he realized she intended to leave, he had received a shock. The early bed hour, the sound sleep, the little dish of cakes by the bed, all bespoke a kind of cozy comfort. It seemed to him that his long absence had assured her he would not come back, at least for some time, and she was more comfortable and at ease alone than she had ever been in his presence. Lying, treacherous bitch! He had almost believed she had loved the beast in the black cloud for the person that was Eros inside it.