Island of Fire (The Age of Bronze) (23 page)

“
Ai
, by the great, blue sky above and the broad, green earth below, Diwoméde! If anyone angered the gods, it was certainly not you,” the seeress said with a harsh laugh. “It was that mad
wánaks
, Agamémnon, father though he was to me! He was such a dreadful and godless man the whole of his life! It was his crime that brought the plague on the Ak’áyan army in the first place, while they were still waiting to sail to Tróya, if you will recall. It was for that reason that my life was to be sacrificed to Artémito, all those years ago. Surely you remember that!

“My father then fooled his entire army into believing that I had died, as you well know. Naturally, he considered himself a very clever man for having done that. But now, do you not think that Artémito herself knew that I was still alive?
Ai
, by all the stars in the heavens, of course she did! Goddesses cannot be fooled by a bit of wild hand-raising and the sending of fat snakes and small deer here and there, as foolish men can! But the wise goddess chose to lift the plague, even so. Why do you suppose she did that? Why did the Great
Máinad
accept that false sacrifice? It was because it served her divine purpose, you foolish ox-hoof of a man! Agamémnon was destined to sack Tróya, that is why! Ariyádna, my dear, sweet aunt, was fated to return home with my uncle, Meneláwo. That is the real reason. But, at the same time, there was a terrible price to be paid for that impious deception. It was decreed that most of those who fought at Tróya should die, shortly after they returned home.”

“But why?” Diwoméde demanded, fighting the tears that threatened to spill from his burning eyes. “Why, Ip’igéneya, why? I have heard many people say that Agamémnon was a godless man. But was he really so much worse than other kings? What about Odushéyu? He was never anything but a pirate, raiding his neighbors’ lands every summer. At Tróya, he fought well enough, but that was not for Meneláwo’s sake, or for Ariyádna, not really. Odushéyu only cared about himself. He was always scheming to enlarge his own kingdom and increase his own power at the expense of someone else.
Ai
, his own queen threw him out of It’áka when he got home, after the war. But he did not die! So why did Aígist’o succeed in taking the throne from Agamémnon? That is what I must know. Was it because of something that I did? In T’ráki there was a chieftain’s son…”

Ip’igéneya sighed, shaking her disheveled head at him. A softness came into her large, mournful eyes that he had not seen before. “Listen to me, Diwoméde,” she said, as gently as a mother might speak to her dearest child. “I am a priestess. I speak to the gods. They reveal many things to me. But there is only so much that they can or will show to any of us. If you want to know the source of someone’s curse or the cause of a particular misfortune, I can divine the name of a man’s enemy. That is simply a matter of listening to the crackling of laurel leaves in a purifying flame. Or, if you want to know which god has brought a drought to your field or a plague on your house, or some other disaster to your own household, I can discover that in the intestines of a sheep or the liver of a sacrificial goat. Ask me something small like that and I can answer you with assurance and accuracy. But these large questions, why the thread of man’s life was spun in such a way, why the warp and woof of a nation’s tapestry should be woven in this pattern or that…
ai
, that is something that only the gods can see, not mortals.”

“Am I the cause of Argo’s misfortunes, then?” Diwoméde asked, gripping Ip’igéneya’s plump arm with trembling fingers. “All of Ak’áiwiya has suffered since the Tróyan war, with drought and pestilence and civil war. Was it Ak’áyan crimes at Tróya that caused all this? Or was it something that I did, specifically?”

Grim and cold once more, the priestess pulled away from the
qasiléyu’s
grasp and stood. “No!” she called out in a voice that was as loud as a horse’s neigh, hoarse and unearthly. The flame of her lamp reflected in her eyes. Her gaze fastened on an unseen point in another world. “In ancient times, the powers of the Great Above did battle with the powers of the Great Below. In that primordial age, the Heavens Above triumphed. But now, all that is changed. The Netherworld Below has avenged its earlier loss on all the unfaithful peoples of the world. Now Diwiyána is
wánasha
of the regions above and her daughter, Préswa, holds equal status in the regions below. Beside each goddess there now rules a mortal priestess, too. My sister and I are the handmaidens of these two goddesses, I tell you. Between us, Lawodíka and I shall see to the restoration of balance, of justice, in this world and the next, O Man. You are nothing but a small token that the Great Goddess moves on a game board, Diwoméde. Nothing that you have ever done or ever can do has any bearing whatsoever on the weighty matters of this world or the next!

“All of this, all of it, was foretold on the holy island of ‘Elléniya, in ages past. Even the most unlearned Ak’áyan must come to know the exalted reputation of that great prophecy today! No priestess survived long enough to teach it to me properly. Nevertheless, I know the truth of what I have just told you, for I have seen it in many a vision. It is the meaning of the sacred writing on the disk of the spiral, first spoken and written in ancient times. Those holy signs tell my story, I tell you, mine! At one time, every Ak’áyan queen learned that secret lore and recited the sacred tale at her coronation. But now, I am the last keeper of this great mystery. From this time forward, only the high priestess of Put’ó will guard that most sacrosanct teaching. Only she will remember it and even she will no longer write the holy symbols. Nor will any copies of the sacred disk be allowed to remain in existence. Only the hearts of Diwiyána’s chosen will carry that secret tale, from this day forward. I was always destined to restore prosperity to this land, after it was properly punished for its crimes. And the moment has now come.”

She pointed at him, fastening her unblinking eyes on his, the pupils so wide that they completely extinguished the irises. “Go, little brother, go west to meet your fate. Take your companions with you. Reassure them that they need not be afraid. Death’s kingdom is no longer in the west. Nor is it in the east. Préswa’s kingdom is beneath the earth. The lands to the west are like any other. Mortal men and women spend their lives there, as they do here, raising children and grazing cattle. Tell your people not to fear, not to falter. Now, leave me and leave Ak’áiwiya, and never return. Provisions have been placed outside for you. But remember. You must not eat or drink until you have left my sacred grove. You must fast in memory of Diwiyána’s sorrowful wandering, when her daughter was first taken from her. If you do her dishonor and partake of either food or liquid refreshment, not one of you will live to see the new year in your new home.”

Diwoméde dared not contradict her statements or defy her command. Turning her words over and over in his mind, he left, as troubled as he had come. In the large chamber, he roused his fellow pilgrims and headed for the mouth of the cave. They followed him in wondering silence and took up the leather bags that they found beside the entrance.

Qérayan and Dáuniya were curious, but, frightened by the events in the cavern and by the
qasiléyu’s
strange, agitated manner, neither spoke to Diwoméde until they left the fir trees behind. In whispers to each other, they speculated on their fellow ambassador’s dark mood. “The advice of the oracle was completely clear, last night,” Qérayan said hopefully. “Ip’igéneya approved of our plan to sail west. So why is Diwoméde so grim?”

“I do not know,” Dáuniya answered, frowning. “But he obviously does not want to talk. Perhaps he learned something that we did not. We will ask him later. Let him be the first to speak.”

When they reached the ridge overlooking the rocky slopes of the sleeping goddess, Dáuniya caught her husband by the arm. “We should stop here and eat,” she told him. “The way back down the mountain is long and steep. We need our strength.”

Diwoméde nodded. Seating themselves on the dry, yellowed grass, the travelers opened the bags. The flat bread and diluted wine within disappeared quickly. “Come on,” the
qasiléyu
urged them quietly. “It is time to go.”

The other two obediently stood at his summons. But they glanced at each other with furrowed brows. “I should go first again,” Qérayan blurted. “My leading the way was lucky yesterday. It got us a good omen. We will have the best fortune if we go back the same way.” He hurried ahead, leaving the woman to speak with the older man, alone. The young islander was strong, his belly was full, and he felt greatly encouraged by the way things had gone. Before long, he was far ahead of the other two, down the steep slope a good distance. He began to sing, kicking up dust for the fun of it, as he descended toward the bay, far below:

“Artop’ágo, king of Mice,

Called his loyal archers all:

‘O, three evils have been mine,

My three children, I have lost.

“’First, the Weasel raped my girl,

Carried her to dark ‘Aidé.

Then my youngest was deceived.

A man, a trap, they are to blame.

“Then the worst of all the fates

Came to Lík’enor, my heir.

Frogs have lured him to the pond,

Strangled him beneath the waves.”

Knowing that the youth would not hear them, Dáuniya touched Diwoméde’s arm again. “What is troubling you, beloved?” she asked. “Did you not like the oracle’s advice?”

“It is not that,” he answered, without looking at her.

“Then what is it?”

When Diwoméde did not respond immediately, she added, “Do you doubt the seeress? You know her, do you not? Is that it? Do you think she made it all up? Was she faking?”

“I do not know what to think.” Diwoméde stopped and turned to face the woman. “What is your opinion? That ceremony last night, do you think that there really were
maináds
and
kentáuros
in that cave? Did the goddess really send a vision to her priestess? Or was that just a performance for our benefit?”

Dáuniya smiled sadly and took his hand. Pulling gently, she got him to start walking down the face of the mountain again. “We saw and heard men and women like ourselves, slaves of the god and goddess. When you and Qérayan were asleep, I got up and looked around the cave. I saw Ip’igéneya carried to a bed in a small chamber off the big one. The women removed the leafy branches and the garlands that they had been wearing, in another small room. The men removed their costumes, which were the skins of animals. They had double flutes, finger cymbals, and sistrums. They were laughing at how they had frightened us with their music and their running about. You have seen people like them before, beloved. In the cities and in the countryside, the people dance in processions in those same garments, wearing goat horns on their heads and masks. That is part of the autumn festival of sowing in every land.”

“
Ai
, Dáuniya,” Diwoméde sighed. “You always were the practical one. It is hard for anyone to deceive you.”

“You do not sound very happy about that,” the woman observed with a question in her voice.

The
qasiléyu
halted again. “I asked Ainyáh to make sure that I was chosen for this mission. He kept my token under his thumb and knocked it out, on purpose. I wanted to be the one to go. I had more than one reason to come up here, too. I did not care what the oracle said about our journey. We might as well sail west. There is nothing for us in any other direction. But what will we find in the
ítalo
country? Even you cannot answer that with any certainty, not after being gone for so many years. The drought may have struck there, too. Or it may be that too many refugees have already gone that way before us. We may not be welcome there. The lands may be too crowded.”

“Stop,” Dáuniya commanded, raising both of her hands to his mouth. “The purpose of our coming here was to get our whole group to agree on something. That is all. It does not really matter what the oracle says. You are right about that. But when we tell the others what she said, they will accept it. There will be no more arguing and fighting. That is what matters. As for what the future holds, time will tell. What will be, will be. There is no point in worrying until you are sick.”

Diwoméde made a wry face and began moving forward again. Qérayan had stopped, further below, and was waiting for them to catch up. “Hurry!” he shouted back at them. “It is already getting hot and we have a long way to go yet!”

Dáuniya waved him on. “Go ahead, Qérayan, go on ahead. Take the message to the ships. Go as fast as you can!” She began to laugh as the long-haired islander whooped and scrambled down the path, raising more dust than ever.

Diwoméde glanced at his sun-bronzed concubine. She caught his look and smiled warmly. “Dáuniya,” he said, “why did you not head west before this? You could not have known that I would make it back to Ak’áiwiya alive.”