Shimmering Splendor Read online

  She had not thought once then, or even when she was wakened by Lysis to eat a lavish meal, to ask that her traveling garb be cleaned and some supplies be packed. Oddly, despite the hours she had slept, she had almost fallen asleep over her dinner and had to be helped back to bed. When she was wakened by Lysis in the gray light before dawn the next day, she had realized the food had been drugged and thought it a mean spitefulness, an excuse to send her off in her filthy clothes with an empty pack to make her way as best she could.

  Far from it. Her leather tunic and leggings had been brushed spotless and rubbed soft, and there was a new loop sewn on her belt which held a small ax. Everything in her pouch had been replaced or renewed: fresh thongs, a roll of cord, a large pad of well-oiled tinder, a new and finer firestriker, several long, sharp pins, some hard wooden pegs, other items she did not bother to examine. And her pack was bulging with perfect trail food of every kind.

  A huge breakfast was provided, but Lysis, having served, stood at her elbow when she began to eat, shifting from foot to foot, so clearly tense and eager for her to finish that she might as well have shouted, “Get out.” Psyche realized she was no longer welcome and at once stood up to leave. Lysis fairly glowed with gratitude at her understanding, but it was soon clear that she was not meant to be deprived of her breakfast. Before she got through the door, Lysis was beside her with all the remaining delicacies packed into a large napkin. She urged Psyche to take the food, and a small leather bottle of wine, with such insistence that Psyche did so without protest, accounting it another puzzle of Aphrodite’s behavior that she was unlikely to fathom.

  She bent her mind, as she strode along, to considering what she had found in her pouch and pack. If anything were missing, she might still be able to try to sell her dress and buy it before she left the city. But she could not think of a thing—except, perhaps, a boat in which to cross the river. She laughed at the thought, and then stopped dead for a moment. How would Aphrodite, or even her servants, know what was needed for a journey in the wilderness?

  From what Teras had told her, she knew a great deal about Aphrodite and the way she lived. Journeys in the wilderness were no part of that delicate Olympian’s experience. And the arrows—Psyche looked down at the quiver hanging at her hip—yes, the arrows were all newly fletched. She took a deep breath and began to walk again, feeling light as a feather. The perfect selection of supplies, the newly fletched arrows—Teras, not Aphrodite, had overseen the preparations for her journey.

  As soon as she was out of the city, Psyche found a place by the side of the road and ate most of the breakfast she had missed. She drank only a little of the wine, thinking she would keep the rest to warm her in the evening, and she took out a new leather thong, smiling at it and thinking of Teras’s care, as she fastened the bottle to her belt. By the time the sun had come up over the mountains, the road had again changed from polished stone to smooth earth. She walked on, warm and content.

  Although she could not be sure why Teras would take such care for her and still allow Aphrodite to send her away without speaking to her, she guessed he could not yet stand against Aphrodite’s will. She felt a twinge of disappointment in her lover, but she was so glad that he was strong enough to do anything and that he did know she had come to Olympus that she put aside that small dissatisfaction. It was not unreasonable, she told herself, that he would doubt her and himself and trust only Aphrodite after she had nearly killed him.

  The smooth earth of the road turned into a rutted track and then petered out into grazing land by noon. Psyche found a convenient flat rock, slipped her pack from her shoulders, and opened it. She smiled, a little mistily, at the careful layering, a layering very familiar to her after the many times she had unpacked a noon meal and then a supper when she and Teras were in the forest together.

  The little sadness at his obedience to Aphrodite returned to trouble her, and to divert herself, she studied the land around her while she ate. The fields were empty, the grass not yet lush enough to make it worthwhile to drive a herd this far. But in the distance, back toward the city, she saw a single figure moving. A shepherd checking on the growth of the grass? A hunter making for the woods? Psyche watched idly—he was something to look at while she ate—and then turned to look north, dismissing him from her mind as she wondered whether she should continue west or turn north immediately.

  She decided to go north even though she knew she could travel farther and more quickly over the grazing fields. The ground rose to the north, and she might be able to catch sight of the river. Possibly she could find a tree on the high ground and be able to see how the river ran. Sometimes a river would make a great loop and much time and energy could be saved by cutting across. In addition, although Aphrodite had said the sheep she sought were many leagues to the west, she might pass a good place to cross the river if she could not see it. It was not an irrevocable decision; if she found the terrain too rough, she might turn west again.

  She walked sturdily, looking back after a while to be sure the land was still dropping behind her. Although on a steep hill her thighs would tell her she was climbing, on a gentle rise it was harder to judge. To her surprise, she saw a figure also coming north behind her. She could not be sure it was the same person, but she had not passed a living soul once she was beyond the ploughed fields and did not at all like the fact that the man had changed direction from west to north just as she had. That made her suspicious that he was not an accidental follower, but actually a pursuer. She turned somewhat west again and walked a little faster.

  As she came to the crest of the hill, Psyche hunkered down so that she was less visible to anyone following her and looked back. At first she was relieved, thinking she had been mistaken and the follower had only gone her way for a time and had now struck out on a different path. Then she saw him emerge from behind a tree and take almost the same line she had up the hill. She swallowed hard. She had understood from Teras that the valley of Olympus was safe from thieves and outlaws. If that man was following her, it was on Aphrodite’s orders. Quietly she loosened her bow from her pack, took the bowstring from her pouch and strung it, then drew out an arrow. If he came near enough to hurt her, she would shoot him.

  She did not draw the bow, but held it loosely in her hand so that her pursuer would see it if he came close. Then she stared northward, but the hill was not high enough to give her a clear view. Farther north the land seemed to rise again and to be wooded, and she could not detect any sparkle of silver that might hint of a river. Since the ridge ran to the west Psyche followed it, hoping she would find a tree large enough to allow her to see over the next wooded ridge. From time to time she looked back; if she waited long enough, her pursuer always appeared—but, she soon realized, he was coming no closer.

  That gave her food for thought. She had first believed that Aphrodite had sent someone to kill her so that she could tell Eros that his beloved had died. After a time, she realized that was ridiculous. Angry as Eros might be with her, he would never forgive Aphrodite for sending her on a mission on which she died—and Aphrodite could not be unaware of the depth of his feelings. Teras had grieved himself thin when she was late returning from Iolkas. But if the man was not sent to harm her, could he have been sent to protect her? No, that was equally silly. What protection could he give at that distance? But if she could see him, he could see her. Psyche uttered an annoyed little snort. Doubtless he had been sent to watch her.

  The ridge bent southward—that was easy to tell because the sun began to dazzle the corner of her eye instead of warming her back. Psyche paused and turned to look northwest but could not see past the next ridge. She started down the hill, noting that the open area was not as smoothly grazed as on the side facing the valley of Olympus. There was more brush, some thickets a man’s height or taller. An idea concerning the thickets stirred in her brain, and she turned to look behind again. This time she could not see her follower.

  Hastily, she ran some distance down the north
side of the ridge, moving quickly between the patches of brush and pausing beside one to rest when she needed to stop. By the time she was at the bottom, the sun was down behind the crest. The sky was still light, but it could not be long before evening and she had not seen her follower in some time.

  Perhaps she had been mistaken and the man had business of his own. Nonetheless, she kept a sharp eye out for a site that could implement her plan. It was nearly dark before she found what she wanted—a dense thicket barely within sight of a large tree. She was so tired that she almost gave up the idea, but she set her teeth and began to bend aside the outer branches of a thick patch of brush. When she had eased herself inside, she used her new ax to cut away an area large enough to lie down in. Wrapping her cloak around the cut branches, she left a “sleeping body” lying in the space and wormed her way out of the thicket.

  Psyche found the tree before it was too dark to see it. She had little difficulty climbing because she had chosen a conifer with low-growing, regularly spaced branches; finding a place in which to be safe and comfortable was not so simple. She was too tired to do more than sip from her bottle of wine and eat a piece of bread when she had finally jammed her pack firmly between two branches, and found two more that would support her safely and allow her to lean against a third and the trunk for support. When she had eaten, she wrapped herself in her blanket and tried to watch the thicket.

  If the man had been following her, he did not appear before it grew too dark to see a shadow moving. Psyche leaned sideways, passed her arms around a nearby limb to steady herself, pillowed her cheek against a wadded up bit of blanket, closed her eyes to rest—and did not open them again until the persistent flicker of light beyond her eyelids teased her awake.

  For a moment she stared without comprehension at the rough bark and twigs tipped with long green needles that her eyes opened on. Then an attempt to lift her head made her groan aloud. Her neck, her arms and shoulders—and as she twitched involuntarily in reaction to the initial twinge—every muscle in her back and thighs had stiffened like stone set in mortar. The involuntary twitch also brought about a sense of insecurity which caused an equally involuntary tightening of her arms around the branch against which she was resting. That wrung another groan from her, but the feel of the bark against her arms and the slight movement of the branch also brought an instant recollection of where she was and why she was up a tree.

  Suppressing another groan, Psyche lifted her head and looked toward the brush where she had left her cloak. She could not see into the “nest” she had made, however, and could detect no outward signs of disturbance from her current perch, so she dismissed the problem of the man who had followed her in favor of flexing and twisting her muscles in an attempt to make them fit for climbing down the tree. When a combination of an urgent need to relieve herself and some reduction in stiffness caused her to glance down to choose a way, she gasped in horror. A man was sitting at the base of the tree looking up at her.

  Chapter 20

  Psyche’s first reaction was to fumble in her belt for her knife, but her hand stopped before it found the hilt. Clearly there was no need to protect herself. If he had wanted to harm her, he could have climbed up and slit her throat any time during the night. Then she started to reach out for the bow and quiver she had cached on another, lower limb, but she aborted that movement too. She could not possibly murder the man just for sitting below the tree she had climbed. She had been at his mercy all night and he had done her no hurt. Even as a threat, stringing the bow and drawing an arrow were useless. He might move away, but she could not send an arrow far enough to prevent him from following her.

  Frustrated, and with a growing need to relieve her bladder and bowels, Psyche stared down at the man who stared back up, smiling. She had a peculiar feeling that she had seen him somewhere before.

  “Do not be afraid to come down,” he said at last. “I swear I will do you no harm—I will swear not to touch you at all, if you wish—and I will catch you if you fall.”

  Psyche’s lips parted, but between surprise at the familiarity of the voice, which reinforced her feeling that she knew him, and indignation at the idea that she could not climb down without falling, all she got out was, “Why should I trust you? You have already forsworn yourself. There is no way you could catch me if I should fall without touching me.”

  “Very well,” the man said, with a brisk shrug and an amused chuckle. “Then I will let you fall.”

  “Atomos!” Psyche exclaimed, the teasing humor recalling the suitor who had said she weighed too much to buy by the pound. “What are you doing here?”

  “Following you,” he answered promptly, adding, “Why do you not come down? If you remember me, you cannot be afraid of me.”

  “That is a stupid thing to say,” Psyche retorted, but with a smile. “I remember one conversation with you under my father’s eye and with all his liegemen present. That is scarcely a guarantee for your behavior when we are alone.”

  He laughed aloud. “True enough. However, since you cannot perch in that tree forever, you might just as well come down in time to share my breakfast. I will gladly withdraw a suitable distance so that I cannot seize you, but I thought you would rather have me close enough to catch you if you fall.”

  “You just said you were going to let me fall,” Psyche remarked, prying her pack free from the branches into which she had forced it and pulling it toward her.

  “Only in jest,” he replied, his smile gone. “I do not believe I could bear to see you hurt, even against my own oath.”

  Psyche, who had just lifted the pack to her lap, froze. For those last few words, Atomos’s voice seemed different—even more familiar, perhaps more musical, but somehow distorted so she could not pin down why she felt she knew it. Then he laughed and offered to toss up a rope that she could tie to the trunk and cling to as she came down. In that case, he pointed out, he could withdraw to a distance so she need not fear him. The voice was only Atomos’s without any disturbing echoes of another.

  “Oh, I do not fear you,” she said. “After all, you could have climbed up any time during the night if you wished to take me prisoner or do me harm. If I were afraid, I would string my bow and shoot you. Instead I will consign my supplies and weapons to your keeping. Catch this.” And she dropped her pack.

  Since there was nothing breakable in it, Psyche did not care whether he caught it or not. She heard it crashing through the branches and a surprised oath from Atomos as she twisted around and reached up to take hold of a limb above and behind her. Her arms and back protested, but not nearly so much as they had when she first moved, and she was able to raise one foot to the branch on which she was sitting and pull herself upright. The week and more that she had spent making her way to Olympus had hardened her; she had always been strong; now she was tough as well.

  Below Atomos was silent, uttering no cries of alarm, no cautions or warnings. Psyche paused, biting her lip. That was Teras’s way too. But there was no Teras…no dearly beloved monster…only Eros. She looked down hastily to see where her pack had fallen and her eyes found Atomos. She was rather surprised to see an expression of real anxiety on his face. It gave her a little fillip of pleasure that he should care about her and yet let her act without giving advice, but it annoyed her too. Then she reminded herself that Atomos could not know of her adventures since he had seen her, an idle lady in her father’s court.

  In fact she made it safely to the ground without great difficulty and hurried away without a word to attend to her most pressing needs. When she returned she found that Atomos had cleared a patch of ground and started a fire. A pot holding coarse-ground meal and water sat on a tripod above the flames, not yet boiling, but with a faint vapor rising from it. On a large stone near the fire were a small crock, which Psyche was sure contained honey, and a wrapped packet, almost certainly of raisins or dates.

  “You do not stint yourself,” she said, smiling.

  “I am an old, experienced hunte
r,” he replied. “And usually this breakfast is my first meal after a long chase with no other meal to follow until dark.”

  Psyche sat down on the blanket she had dropped when she ran off into the brush, which Atomos had folded neatly and set at a comfortable speaking distance from his own. Just beyond the blanket was her pack—with her cloak folded neatly on top. She smiled as she reached for it and pulled it around her. So he had seen through her little device. He certainly was an excellent tracker, to have discerned that the cloak-wrapped body was a fake and then followed her trail in the dark—an experienced hunter, indeed.

  Hunter? The word echoed in Psyche’s mind as she watched Atomos lean forward to stir the porridge. What could he have been hunting in the ploughed fields and grazing land of Olympus? What was a native hunter from Cellae doing in Olympus at all? Then she recalled with a sinking heart that Atomos was a special devotee of Aphrodite, that he had broken off his courtship of her when her father had told him the temple of Aphrodite was closed to worshippers and that he could not offer sacrifice there for help in his suit. Had that suit ever been real? Or had he been sent by Aphrodite as a spy? Psyche stood up abruptly and began to roll her blanket.

  “What are you doing?” Atomos asked.

  “Leaving,” Psyche said.

  “Why?”

  “Because you are Aphrodite’s servant. You came to my father’s court to spy on us, and you have come now to make it impossible for me to fulfill Aphrodite’s task.”