Shimmering Splendor Page 32

  “No,” he said, eyes wide open, startled.

  “Yes,” she hissed. “You liar, oh yes! I do not think she can claim you gave me any help by sleeping by the foot of my tree because I was asleep when you came and could not send you away. But with one spoon of that porridge you are mixing, she will have a new excuse to keep me from my Teras.”

  “Nonsense,” he said, also standing up.

  Psyche made no reply, merely strapping her blanket to her pack and pushing her cloak aside so she could slide her arms through the straps. She glanced briefly at the sun to orient herself and took a step toward the north.

  “Psyche, wait!” Atomos cried, blocking her path. “It is not true!”

  “What is not true?” she asked with cold fury, “That you are Aphrodite’s servant and are doing her bidding?”

  “No, that she will claim my accompanying you violates the task she has set. How can she? She…she agreed that I should follow you, yes, but to protect you. And she did not say you must go alone. If you fear she will blame you for accepting help, I will not help you gather the burning wool, that you will do by yourself.”

  Psyche drew back a step, rigid with rage. “She did not say I must not use magic to complete my first task either, but she used that as an excuse to forbid me to see Teras. Oh, no, you fooled me once—that was a shameful thing for you to do, but not very shameful perhaps because you did not have to lie much. I was overused to suitors and did not sense your falseness.”

  “There was no falseness,” Atomos cried. “Not about my feeling for you.”

  “Liar!” Psyche breathed, and as his lips parted on another protest, her voice overrode his. “But if you fool me again—that is a shame on me for vanity and stupidity. Go back to your mistress and say I did not fall into her trap. I will find the sheep and fetch the wool, and I will see and speak to Teras.”

  She turned to go around him, but he stepped in front of her again. “I never fooled you, never!” he exclaimed passionately. “When I saw you, I was amazed at your beauty and I said so, but when you told me what beauty was worth, you ravished my soul. I admit I am Aphrodite’s servant, but I swear I love you, have loved you ever since I first met you. I would never do anything to hurt you.”

  “Love me, do you?” Psyche’s brows lifted in disbelief while her anger built to bursting. “Then go back to Aphrodite and speak the truth,” she snarled. “Tell her that I have rejected your help and protection, that I will go alone and come back alone to Olympus to claim my reward.”

  As she spoke the last word, she jumped closer, pushed him hard so that he staggered out of her way, leapt past him, and ran as fast as she could. She heard him cry out, but no footsteps pounded behind her, and when, a long while later, pain lanced through her side, she slowed to a walk and glanced over her shoulder. He was not close enough to see. Psyche walked more slowly, drawing deep breaths, but she did not think she had escaped him. He would surely follow. Aphrodite had faithful servants.

  Now Psyche began to doubt her wisdom in pushing him away and running off. It would not stop him from tracking her and probably had made him angry. Doubtless that would make him more willing to lie and say she had accepted his help. Her word against his, which would Aphrodite take? More important, which would Eros take?

  Disgusted with herself for losing her temper and wondering whether she should let Atomos catch up, she slowed further and began to glance around rather than just looking at where she was putting her feet. She had come down to the bottom of the ridge she had climbed and about halfway up the one she had seen the previous afternoon. The countryside was much rougher here, with more brush and trees, and the grass tangled and growing in coarse tussocks.

  Just ahead was a fallen tree. Psyche slid her pack off her shoulders, propped it against the trunk, and sat down to get something to eat. She did not hurry, munching on the waybread and dried apples and sipping at the wine in the flask while she watched the back trail for Atomos, She tried to plan what to say to him but could not imagine any way to convince him to disobey his mistress.

  Only he had not appeared when she was finished eating, and Psyche began to wonder whether she had misjudged him—and Aphrodite. Perhaps his arrival was only a test and she had passed it? Psyche was a little surprised that her spirits did not rise more at the hope that she was rid of him. He was almost as much fun to talk to as Teras and had almost the same kind of sense of humor. Psyche sighed.

  She had enjoyed their conversation…before she’d realized that Aphrodite had sent him. She looked around at the empty landscape and sighed again. The truth was that she was lonely. Tears blurred her eyes. She wanted Teras. She shuddered. There was no Teras, only Eros…Eros of the beautiful face and hard, cold heart. Did she want Eros? But they were the same—or were they? With his beauty hidden, had Eros felt a need to be more the kind of person she would like? Nonsense! He could have maintained such a pretense for a few hours, a few days, not for the length of time they had been together. If Eros was the being in the black cloud, then it was Eros she loved.

  Nonetheless, Psyche found her eyes wandering back along the way she had come as she put away what she had not eaten and closed her pack again. There was still no sign of Atomos. She drew a deep breath, swung her pack to her shoulders, and set out northward again. Soon the trees grew closer and closer and she knew she would see nothing if she turned to look back.

  It was less easy to keep her direction with the sun hidden by the trees, but the growth was not so thick that glances of light did not penetrate. Between the angle at which the shadows fell and the growth of moss on trunk and rock, she was reasonably sure she was headed in the right direction. Because she found it a relief to concentrate on the mechanics of her travel, she felt immediately the change in the demands on her muscles when she had topped the hill she was climbing and started to go down.

  She trudged on, a little more carefully after she came to a steep slope where her feet slid and she almost fell. Oddly, it was harder work to go downhill on the sharp grade than it had been to climb the hill, and she stopped more often to rest. At the third pause Psyche decided she might as well eat a midday meal. The forest was silent in her immediate vicinity as usual, but in the distance there was sound, and as she stood perfectly still, for the moment too sad and discouraged even to take off her pack or find a seat, she realized the sound was the rushing of water. The river!

  The oppression on her spirit flew away. It was as if reaching her first goal had made the purpose of struggling toward that goal worthwhile again. With renewed energy and considerably greater speed, she hurried downward, barely stopping herself from falling in at the end because the trees grew thickly right down to the bank, which had been cut away steeply under the roots.

  Psyche chose a nest of intertwined roots right over the water in which to sit down and unpack her food. As she ate, with better appetite than she had had that morning, she looked upriver and down, faced with the same problem she had had on her way to Olympus—how to get across the water. She was not nearly so worried now as she had been then. For one thing, she was hardened to travel; for another, she had an ax. At worst, she could cut and tie several logs together on which to rest her pack and help support her so she could wade and swim to the opposite bank.

  Not just here, however, she decided, as she finished the wine and lay flat on the roots to rinse out the bottle. Right here the current was too violent, even as close to the bank as she was, and the opposite bank was too steep. Psyche sat up and looked upstream. Aphrodite had said the sheep were many leagues to the west. She could well afford to walk along the river and try to find a better spot to cross.

  She reached out to draw her pack to her when she heard an odd sound. Her hand checked for a heartbeat; it was not a footstep, more a creaking of wood, as if someone had leaned against a young tree. Psyche’s eyes brightened and her lips curved a little, but she did not look upward into the forest; she finished pulling her pack closer, replaced the piece of cheese she had not finished
and the now-empty bottle (no need to carry water when she would stay near the river for the rest of her journey), and closed the pack. Then she rose and started westward, her eyes bent on the rather treacherous terrain of the bank.

  Psyche saw enough to keep her from stumbling, but that was all, because her mind was very busy. It seemed that Atomos had followed her, after all, and that he had decided not to accost her again. That was well and good if he would admit that he had traveled separately from her and given her no help or advice. But if he were going to pander to Aphrodite’s whim and say she had accepted assistance from him no matter what she did, why not accept his offer?

  Aphrodite had said she had failed the test of patience, but had mostly used the excuse that Teras was not well enough to keep her from seeing him. Teras—no, Eros. She would have to grow accustomed to using his real name. For a while Psyche’s mind was diverted from whether to acknowledge Atomos’s presence to the frightening problem of whether Teras and Eros truly were the same person. She walked on almost unseeing, longing for Teras and battling the doubts and fears seared into her by the meeting with Eros when he cursed her father. At last she thrust those disturbing thoughts from her mind to reconsider whether she dared quibble about the terms of this new task.

  It was true that Aphrodite had not said she must go alone; this was to be a test of her cleverness and courage. Courage might mean she must face the dangers and problems all on her own, but cleverness might mean that she would be judged stupid if she rejected the help of a man who admitted Aphrodite had sent him to protect her. Psyche bit her lip. That meant that whatever she did, Aphrodite could claim that she had failed.

  Psyche hesitated and half turned to call out to Atomos, then shook her head sharply and began to walk forward again. She was only finding excuses to accept his company. He was a pleasant companion, and she was so very tired of being alone. However, there was another reason to ignore him. He had said he loved her. If that were true, it would be cruel to laugh and joke with him and possibly bind him closer when she cared only for Teras…Eros. Did she care for Eros? She tossed her head. That Atomos loved her was almost certainly a lie. Surely it was Aphrodite he loved and served. But if he loved Aphrodite, then he would say whatever Aphrodite wanted him to say, so why should she not make this journey easier and pleasanter by making it with him?

  Psyche’s thoughts went round and round while her feet found a way along the bank of the river, until at last a message her eyes had been receiving for some time drew her out of her self-absorption. Ahead the light was much brighter. As soon as the thought penetrated, she took in what she had been seeing. Beyond her a large tree had fallen, taking with it many of the smaller trees and opening an area into a meadow where the sun glinted blindingly into her eyes.

  The low angle of the light told her most of the day had passed and the knowledge made her aware of the strong ache in her shoulders—the generously filled pack was heavier than she had carried in many days—and the tiredness in her legs. Well, at least she had become aware of her fatigue in an ideal place to camp. She could just settle herself in the curve between the roots of the tree and the trunk. Water was right at hand, and the dead branches would be perfect fuel for a fire.

  When she dropped her pack against the tree trunk, Psyche thought she heard a snort. She looked first at the trees where Atomos might emerge, but with the westering sun shining in among them she could see a fair way into the woods and there was no sign of him. Either he was farther back or hiding, and he certainly had not made the sound she’d heard. Then she looked all around the clearing, but nothing moved in it. A second survey showed a slightly disturbing sight. On the other side of the fallen tree, the bank had broken away so that it sloped gently to the river. In that slope the grass was trampled and torn and the earth was disturbed. Psyche leaned across the roots to look more carefully and thought she could discern hoofprints.

  Likely, she thought, this was a watering place for deer. Well, they would do her no harm, she told herself, surprised by the uneasiness that the idea generated. Was it some half-buried memory of a warning that such a watering place might be dangerous? Sighing, she reached for her pack, but when she started to lift it, it seemed like the burden of Sisyphus. What danger could deer be to her? She had her javelins; she would have the tree at her back and a fire. She was simply too tired to look for another camping place, which would probably be less suitable.

  Still, she was uneasy enough to be reluctant to unpack everything, which might have to be abandoned if danger did threaten. For the moment she merely unstrapped a blanket and sat down on it, leaning back against the trunk, which shifted very slightly with an odd little grunt. Psyche jumped to her feet, pulling a javelin free of the straps that held it, but no further sound followed and nothing at all moved in the clearing. She stood indecisively, too uncertain to begin preparations for camping, but too aware of the ache in her shoulders and legs, and too sad and discouraged to wish to go on.

  Finally Psyche decided to rest for a while; if no threat showed itself, she would start cutting wood for a fire. She sat down slowly, putting her weight on the tree trunk with care not to tip it. The sound was not repeated. She listened hard, but the clearing was quiet, holding only the common sounds of spring: insects buzzed somewhere in a monotonous manner, leaves and grass rustled in a faint breeze. Idly, Psyche watched the trees on the side of the clearing she had entered, but no tall, dark-haired man stepped into the open, and the sunlight, glancing off the moving leaves, dazzled her tired eyes.

  * * *

  An enormous squealing and squalling jerked Psyche awake. Gasping with fear and shock, she leapt to her feet, clutching at the javelin, which had been lying across her lap. She was at first too dazed to do more than wonder why it was so dark and stare wildly around, whimpering softly when she could see nothing to account for the noise. A heartbeat later she realized the sound was coming from behind her. She whirled about and cried out more loudly at the sight of a large boar confronting a mountain cat on the slope to the watering place. Both were already bleeding, the boar bearing deep scratches along his shoulder where the big cat had missed his strike or been thrown off, and the cat with a gouge in his chest where the boar’s tusk had dug deep and torn down.

  The second cry was a mistake. Her first had been swallowed up in the squalling of the beasts; the louder cry drew momentarily the attention of the mountain cat. The boar, more stubborn and fixed of purpose, charged the moment the big cat’s head turned. Both startled and alerted by the movement, the cat jumped forward, reaching out for a grip with its jaws and striking out with a paw instead of leaping out of the way.

  Both beasts suffered. The boar’s tusk caught the forefoot of the cat above the pads and ripped it apart; the impact held the boar’s head up for just long enough for the cat to catch the top of the skull in its jaws, crushing the eyes and tearing the flesh away. The sight and the screaming of both animals was so terrible that Psyche stood frozen until at last the boar was toppled to its side and the mountain cat’s teeth fastened in its throat.

  The near silence freed Psyche from her paralysis. Thinking the cat fully occupied with its kill, she snatched at her pack and blanket and began a hasty retreat. Her movements were jerky with fear and she could not lift her pack and blanket in her left hand alone—her right still clutched the javelin—so she dragged them.

  The sound made the cat raise its head; her retreat was an irresistible attraction to it. Snarling a challenge, the beast rose, tried to put the damaged paw to the ground, and squalled with rage and pain. Psyche whirled back to face it, screamed with terror as she saw it leap over the dead boar to the tree trunk, and cast her javelin as it leapt again, toward her.

  She dodged sideways, wrenching at a second javelin, knowing she could not possibly free it and throw or even jab in time; she heard the cat squall again and turned to face it. Three arrows seemed to have grown out of the creature’s head and body in the few moments in which she had been trying to free her javelin,
which was finally loose in her hand. Momentum carried the dead cat forward; desperate determination, lagging behind what her senses perceived but her mind had not absorbed, led Psyche to jab at it with her weapon even as it fell. A shocked cry and a bright blade, which beat the javelin aside, drew a shriek from Psyche.

  She dropped the weapon, crying, “Did I hurt you?”

  He caught her to him, crying, “Did I hurt you?”

  “The cat,” she sobbed, “I was trying to hold off the cat. I didn’t see you.”

  “It’s all right, love,” he said, stroking her hair. And after a moment he chuckled and added, “I didn’t think you would be so annoyed with me for killing the mountain cat that you would try to spit me.”

  The chuckle made her conscious that she was clinging to him, and she drew herself away, shaking her head and finding a tremulous smile. “Even I cannot be so unreasonable as to prefer death to accepting your help.” They stood staring at each other for a moment, then Psyche took another step backward and said, “Thank you.”

  Atomos walked to the cat and heaved it over, squatting down beside it, “I do not know that thanks are needed,” he said. “Your javelin was well cast. I think it was dying when my arrows hit.” He began to wrench out the missiles.

  Psyche shuddered. “If so, it was pure luck, and it might well have lived long enough to tear me apart.” She drew a shaken breath and looked around fearfully. “We had better go.”

  “No, why should we?” He smiled at her. “They are lone hunters. No other will be close, and the smell of blood will keep away the boars, if any should be near. This is a very good place to camp. I was envying you your snug retreat before the boar came out from under the tree and the mountain cat leapt upon it.”

  “Under the tree?” she breathed, and shivered again, remembering the grunt she had heard when her weight had moved the tree trunk. “I can hardly believe I didn’t notice it.”