‘She is not free.’
‘What is free? What is not?’ The queen spat the words in sarcasm but the goddess smiled.
‘Ah, see, there at last! You are asking!’
‘Tell me!’ the queen demanded.
‘You must go to the sea and then beneath it. If you leave those pieces here, I shall do as I said. The rest you know already.’
The queen was on her feet then. She laid pieces of thestones, quick but careful, organized in the shape of the serpent in motion. She put the hippos away and whirled, ready for flight. She faced the goddess one final time. ‘What? What do I know already?’
The statue leaned forward. She spread so wide now that the queen was sure she must take the roof off the temple, must crush the columns to twigs. The goddess asked the question almost casually, but the owl shrieked as her mouth opened to form it.
Grey eyes met brown. ‘Who are you?’
And I look back. ‘Meda,’ I say. ‘I am Meda.’
24
The Sea
I summon the guard and tell him to give my husband a message. ‘I am safe. I am following the goddess’s path. I will be home soon.’
I leave the temple. I am earth and stone, I am more stone than the columns, I could crush them with my will alone. The avalanche of what has been presented to me falls and falls, slamming into me but I will not be moved. I become the avalanche instead, I seize each rock and grow around it; I will crash as a cascade upon them.
The sea is before me, beyond the tree line, the forest that runs the length of the cliffs and connects to my own dear forest, further south, in Tiryns. The glittering streak is deceptive in its tranquillity, but you cannot deceive the deceiver. I will rip it until it is naked and uncover its secrets. I will comb its depths and take what is mine. I will find her.
I do not have a plan as to how to get there, I do not know where to find the cliff path, through the trees and down to the shore, but I do not care. I will walk. I have never liked horses anyway. I look at the acropolis of Mycenae, high on a hill like Tiryns, and then turn from it, heading into the relative gloom of the trees. The sun continues its decline above me,and my shadows become increasingly lengthy. This forest is younger than mine, lighter, the earth not so packed and pressed with feet and stories. This makes it harder to keep my bearings, each shrub is so similar to its sibling. I know I must keep moving south and west and try to use the shifting light to navigate but I do not know this forest. I refuse doubt and worry. I will wander ten years more if I must. What is time to I who have waited?
I see them and my heart is lightning.Mushrooms.I think of Perses’ dimpled hands, his little nose wrinkling in imitation of mine. I smell it; freshwater. I am drawn towards it as though it calls my blood, and I send a word of thanks and love to my grandmother on the wings of a sunshine-yellow bird. The stream and I laugh together in happy reunion as I follow it. It will take me where I need. I walk and walk and walk. I do not allow myself to think about her, not yet. I have never been one for future planning, I put one foot in front of the other and continue. The sun is behind me and far away, the forest darkens as the relay plays out above me; Apollo to Astraeus, Astraeus to Selene. I do not mind. The moon will be half full, increscent and gleaming, the Cyclopes will drink well tonight, I think, smiling to myself.
It is as if my thought conjures her. She moves so quietly for one so large, but I suppose she knows the forest and can anticipate the cracking of twigs as she can the movement of her own limbs. She slides out from between the trees as if it is a gap between worlds and crosses the stream towards me.
Autochthebows her head. ‘My queen.’
‘Autochthe. It is good to see you.’
‘And you also.’
‘What brings you here on this night? This is not your usual territory.’
She blinks her large, solitary eye. ‘I was sent to you.’
‘Sent? By whom?’
As ever with Autochthe, I am given the impression of impatience but I am not well versed in the expressions of her kind and may be reading her wrongly. ‘The one who guards forests and wild things. She cannot be seen to aid you herself and so bade me come instead.’
All those years knelt at her quick feet, my head pressed to the silver thread of woven moonlight. So I am not wholly forsaken. ‘Artemis has my thanks.’
‘She said she owes you twice over and would right the old wrongs.’
I think of two arrows, one gold and one silver, speeding through the air to strike their targets true.
‘How are you to help me, kind Autochthe?’
The Cyclops shifts again, this time, I think, with pleasure. ‘I am to bear you on my back to the shoreline. I can move through the forest faster than you and we will reach it before the twilight fades.’
I climb on to her back. She is indeed faster than me. The trees whip by and I shield my face, protecting it from branches and the chilly wind.
