Shadows on the Aegean (32 page)

Disgusted with himself, he crawled over her, retrieved his kilt, left his Eye of Horus—inlaid pendant as payment, and slipped
into his sandals. She lay in a mass of dark curls, the mysteries of her body shielded in sleep. Kohl smeared her face, reminding
him of his own, and he went to the water mirror to repair his eye makeup. She didn’t stir.

The sun testified it was late afternoon. He was tired, starving, and what could he say to her, anyway? He was a prisoner,
however well he was treated, a man with nothing left to lose.
But you saw Chloe
.

He turned away from the sleeping woman and his thoughts of Chloe. She was dead. If he dwelt on his loss, he would go mad.
Never think her name again, he thought. Please, God, let that ease the pain. Quietly he let himself out the door, wandered
around until he found the pavement and the food hawkers, then walked back to the ship.

AZTLAN

Y
OU OWE ME,” SHE SAID
, her voice low and throaty. Zelos looked at his daughter and felt a shiver of revulsion. The first glance was always the
hardest. Pale skin, so fair and translucent that it looked like the underbelly of a fish. He could see the faint lines of
blue in her throat and in the fragile skin of her temple. She had dark blue eyes, long lashed but cold and predatory like
those of a hungry animal.

“I am the Golden Bull,” Zelos said harshly. “I owe you nothing.”

Irmentis grabbed his wrist with strong fingers. “You know what Ileana did. She did it because of you! If you could have kept
your kilt on, she would not have seen the need to make both her daughters pure.”

Zelos pulled away. “Ileana knew me, how our marriage would be, long before we were wed.” Unconsciously he looked at his left
hand and arm. The symbol was faded, but still visible. Vines of green wound around his fingers, over the back of his hand
and around his wrist. The Aztlantu symbol of marriage: a tattooed arm. How very long ago it all seemed. Zelos was suddenly
filled with a fierce will to live, but he squelched it and turned to his daughter. “She would have me anyway.”

“Did she really know how being wed to you would be,
Pateeras?
Did she know the lengths to which you would go?”

“She knew I was a man, with a man’s needs.”

“A conniving, fornicating man who drove her mad. She feared you’d seduce your own daughters.”

Dizziness assaulted Zelos, and his tongue felt thick. Or she feared you would seduce me, he thought.

“Do you know what she did to us?”

He tried to think, to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t obey him. In detached horror he watched as his youngest daughter began
to raise her tunic.

“Ileana did this. But did it keep you from masquerading as a bull at that feast in order to seduce Yuropa?” Irmentis’ white
cheeks burned with spots of red. “Did it keep you from training a swan to charm and seduce Letas? How many children did she
give you besides Phoebus?” Irmentis was untying her sash. “What of Daneaia, the Mycenaen? How much gold dust did you rain
on her before she took you to her bed?” She grabbed his chin, glaring at him. “Ileana may have directed the knife, Zelos,
but you drove her to it! See the results of your faithlessness? See how you ruined my life?”

Zelos had seen hundreds of nymphs intimately. He knew the female body almost better than his own. He felt his gorge rise when
he saw his daughter’s mutilated sex.
Everything
had been carved away, and only a series of tuckered pink scars remained.

Through tears he looked at Irmentis. How could he explain? The passion and lust that had so often seized him was something
she would never know. Never know because of him; because of Ileana. “What do you want?” he asked slowly.

Irmentis dropped her gown. “I cannot bear to leave Aztlan,
Pateeras
. Neither can I endure seeing Phoebus with another.” The ache in her voice made Zelos wonder if maybe this strange woman really
did understand passion.

“Aye.”

She knelt before him. “Give me an island, let me take my dogs and some nymphs with me. I will leave Phoebus and spend the
rest of my days hunting and fishing. I will never return here.” She glanced away. “Until he dies; his Great Year.”

Zelos had never felt kinship with his dark daughter. Her head was bowed, her dark hair curling over her shoulders and spilling
across her covered breasts. “You will leave Phoebus?”

“Aye.” She didn’t look up. “When he learns, I will be anathema to him.”

Zelos had seen his son with Irmentis. She was not anathema to Phoebus, but if she thought she was, so be it. He sighed. Why
not please, unselfishly, at least one woman in his life? “By the Triton and Shell, I swear it.”

She presented the haft of her knife. Offended, yet strangely sympathetic, Zelos cut his finger, smearing blood across the
blade, then over his lips. “I swear it on the Triton and Shell and on my honor as Golden Bull Zelos Zeus of the Clan Olimpi,”
he vowed.

She kissed his mouth hard.

“Kalo taxidi, Pateeras
. I shall eat the funeral
kollyva
for you.”

S
PIRALMASTER’S WRISTS ACHED
from tossing the stones. He’d gone through almost everything in his storerooms, yet nothing had received approval from the
stones. He’d tried asking the stones to tell him what was necessary for the elixir, but he could not understand the response.

He sighed. He should bring in someone else, tell them about the stones, someone who could read … yet he dared not. He’d refused
to see Niko; even now the boy might be carrying the illness that was killing Zelos’
hequetai
. Aztlan needed a Spiralmaster who was not a confidant of
Hreesos
, who was not infected with this disease, who had no political aspirations.

What tragic days for the empire! They needed this elixir! They needed to rise above this disease, the disasters. Immortality
could achieve that for them, yet the cursed stones would not help. Irritated beyond understanding, Imhotep began to name items
for the final ingredient, anything he could think of, from kohl powder, to the kiss of a nymph, to what he had for dinner
the night before.

The stones said aye.

Spiralmaster felt his breath shorten and the pain in his head begin again. Nay, nay. He must stay calm and coherent. What
had he said? “Kohl.” He threw the stones.

Nay.

“A nymph’s kiss.”

Nay.

“Lettuce and onion salad.”

Nay.

“Figs.”

Nay.

“Orange.”

Nay.

“Crab.”

Aye.

“Crab.”

Aye.

Crab was the missing ingredient? There were dozens of types of crabs! What kind of crab? What part of the crab? He snapped
for a serf and sent him for a Shell Seeker. Surely she would know what kinds of crabs there were? Imhotep grinned, self-consciously
wiping drool from his cheek.

They would be like gods!

Decans later Spiralmaster knew what needed to be done. Who was brave enough? Reckless enough? It was a rare type of crab,
one that regenerated itself. The crab would give its essence to the elixir, combine with the other herbs and elements, to
regenerate, to maintain life! It had been eaten time before mind for its healing powers; consequently only a few remained,
hidden in caves beneath the sea.

Who could go? Who would go?

CAPHTOR

C
HLOE AWOKE IN THE SUNSHINE
, achy and deliciously rested. For three days Sibylla had had the body. Apparently now she was willing to share. Wow! What
did she do while I was gone? Chloe thought, sitting up gingerly.

Her skin was scented, musk so familiar that Chloe’s throat tightened. She’s been having sex with my body! Did she even use
protection? Please God, don’t let me wind up pregnant in this ancient time. Please, don’t let that happen!

Sibylla was silent, and for that matter, so was God.

Needing a bath desperately, she snapped for her serf, who filled the cramped stone bath with warm water.

So Sibylla had fooled around, the festival was over, and Chloe … Chloe what? What was the point? The water in her tub sloshed
over the side in a violent stirring of the ground. It lasted only seconds, but it seemed like forever.

A divine answer?

The serf wiped up the spilled water and helped Chloe out, dressing her and leading her down to the main chamber to dine. Exchanging
greetings with those Sibylla knew, and Chloe knew from her late night excursions into Sibylla’s consciousness, Chloe listened
to see if anyone mentioned the tremor they’d experienced this morning.

She accepted bread, cheese, and fruit—European breakfasts hadn’t changed in four thousand years, she thought—and took a bench
seat along one wall. If only they had coffee.

“My mistress,” a clansman in a cowskin cloak said, “we will be ready to sail in a matter of days. Would you care to travel
to Aztlan proper first? Or the clan?”

The clan. Green fields torched. Marble covered in soot. Bodies rooted in mud?

The vision was like electricity through her body, a shock that made every hair stand on end, from the stubble on her knees
to the waist-length locks flowing from her scalp. Some place, some people, destruction; Chloe concentrated. She felt as though
she were a tuning fork for better reception. Terror, not for self but for others, seized her. It was too late! They were too
late! She fought to reconcile her vision with Sibylla’s memories.

Velvet fields were torn in half. Buildings fell into gurgling pools of slime. People fought to climb up, out, only to be engulfed
in flames
. No! Chloe thought. Don’t make it too late!

“Birds,” Chloe said aloud, her grip strong around the clansman’s wrist, her eyes wide and staring. “Now. Get me birds.” He
backed away, and she noticed people were staring. It didn’t matter. What had she seen?

Sibylla! she screamed in her mind. Wake up. Tell me, what island is verdant and has lots of marble? Tell me, damn you. The
shouting and sheer panic woke Sibylla, who answered tersely.

Naxos
.