Hecate stopped suddenly and looked down at him, one brow raised in a threat. The lightest sheen of red magic danced across her arms, and Aeëtes swallowed thickly. When she answered him, she did so aloud, with the maiden and the virgin creeping into her voice.
“We’re going to consult with Circe.”
10
If Aeëtes were capable of expressing shock while in the body of a ram, he would’ve. He knew who Circe was—everyone in Greece did—but he was still a little surprised to hear that Hecate would consult her niece for help.
“She has even more of a kinship with animals than I do, if you can believe it,”Hecate answered him in his head, and once more, Aeëtes found himself lucky that he couldn’t emote. His face would’ve surely blushed crimson at his thoughts be heard out loud once again.
“That couldn’t have anything to do with the fact that sheonlylives with animals, could it?”Aeëtes’s filter, while thin, would’ve likely caught that before he blurted it aloud, but Hecate caught it, pinning her sharp gaze on him once more.
“You seem to have a very tricky relationship with the concept of respect.” Her words slithered out of her like a spell. “I’d suggest you work on that before you find yourself made man again, or you’ll be turning back into a gelding by nightfall.”
Hecate’s magic flared up once again, leaving that telltale shimmer of red sparking over her skin. She walked a few paces ahead of him, leading them through the most vacant streets that she could find while Aeëtes was turned. The market was almost at full swing now, the sun in full force, which caused distracting fractals of light to bounce off Aeëtes’s gold wool. He watched her as he trailed a few paces behind, wanting to give her some space as he tried to get his head on straight. He didn’t mean any disrespect to Circe. He didn’t know Circe. He barely knew Hecate, but he had seen her work, and he was shocked that she needed council fromanyone.
Hecate didn’t seem to be responding to him as they moved through the alleys and under passageways, dodging heavy carts and the now fully crowded market, so he assumed that his thoughts were somewhat safe.
There was a resoluteness to Hecate that he had never experienced before. Aeëtes had very little experience with the gods, but the few encounters that he had made him generally pleased that he wasonlyimmortal. He admired it in her. It was no small feat to be unapologetically powerful and graceful. In fact, it was a quality that Aeëtes had never seen before. He was nearly drunk on it. Yet, there was a sorrow in her—that much he could tell—and there was something to the insults that Hera had thrown at Hecate. It didn’t matter to him if he seemed foolish, there was more to the Goddess of witchcraft than even she let on, and she was pleased to be shrouded in mystery. But when she had tossed him her shawl, goading him, and when he had seen her at the temple…there were pieces to Hecate, joy and laughter, that should be existing on her surface, that shouldn’t be rare occurrences.
Aeëtes leapt over pieces of broken amphora on the street and dodged around a corner, still following Hecate, and set his mind to one, highly specific goal. He’d bring that joy to her surface or would die trying; there was no reason for her to keep it so locked away. She wasn’t just entitled to respect. Hecate was entitled to joy, too. To laughter. To warmth. She was capable of it, but something had locked it away, entrenched it deep within her, likely hidden behind a curse of its own.
Aeëtes was starting to realize he wasn’t sure that Hecate thought she deserved those things. She knew that she deserved respect; she demanded it of him, but she did not demand joy. Aeëtes ducked under a moving cart and watched as the reddish ends of Hecate’s hair disappeared down another street.
I love nothing more than an adventure, Goddess…Aeëtes mused to himself, trotting after the fleeting figure of Hecate.If that means I have to follow you around until you reveal your secrets, so be it. I’ll stay cursed if I have to.
Aeëtes looked up and skidded to a stop, nearly crashing into Hecate. He could tell immediately that her countenance was off, having gone from determined to cautious. He watched as power sparked over her skin, and in the rays of the sun, he could see the light catching the faintest outlines of the maiden and the crone.
“Aeëtes,” Hecate’s voice had dropped an octave, even in his head, “Do not move.”
“What do you—”Aeëtes’s thoughts were interrupted as a massive barrage of shouts broke through the general din of the market. He looked up and saw four men, dressed as merchants, pummeling through the crowd to cross the street towards them. Aeëtes nearly bolted, but Hecate’s command froze him to the spot. He fidgeted, stomping his hooves on the ground behind her and letting out a desperate bleat.
“Those are…”
“Merchants, I know.”Hecate’s magic was flaring up all around her, and Aeëtes didn’t know how the rest of the crowd couldn’t see it. They were on a busy street, in between a fish stall and a stack of wine barrels, but no one reacted to their presence. Even the shouting merchants, who were now angrily wielding knives and kopis, didn’t attract the attention of those standing right next to them.
“How are they…”
“It’s a glamour.”Hecate’s words were clipped as her eyes started scanning the streets as if she were strategizing, looking the part of every general that Aeëtes had ever seen.“It’s Hera’s doing. Everyone is oblivious to us and those merchants.”
The merchants were now pushing past carts, only a few stalls away, and getting closer with every second.
“Hecate, let’s run while we can!”
The goddess shook her head, and Aeëtes could see the edges of her eyes start to glow that bright ruby red.
“They’ll follow us. They’re charmed to do it until they die or Hera releases them. They’ll cut through civilians on their way to us. I won’t let it happen.”
Aeëtes looked around the street and saw it through Hecate’s eyes—the street was filled with women, teenage girls helping their mothers sell baskets, even pregnant mothers carrying baskets of lemons and pitchers of water. She was right; if the merchants had been possessed, then they would cut through everything in their way to get to the two of them. Aeëtes had never felt as useless as he did in that moment, fidgeting back and forth on agitated legs.
He looked up at Hecate once more and saw her mouth begin to move although he could hear no sound coming out. Everything else began to happen so quickly that Aeëtes wasn’t sure if they had died. The heads of the maiden and the crone solidified on her shoulders, and that red power began slowly dripping from her hair. It was sluicing off her body, running over her curves and staining her himation red until the entire garment was dyed the color of blood.
Aeëtes assumed that people saw that color and only saw death and terror, but he could see vitality and life. The color kept running, the magic pooling at her feet again, and Aeëtes knew to take a few steps back.
Hecate’s dogs rose up at her sides, standing from the magic, and her power continued to spread until it was running down the streets. It was even going up the walls, slowly pouring over every fish in the market and dipping every piece of produce in its hue. The crowd moved around them like none of it was happening, like they weren’t all standing in a sea of spells, coloring their entire world in the shade of both life and death. Hecate was both—she was the Goddess of witchcraft, of women and their life-giving forces, and the Goddess of necromancy, of ghosts. Hecate raised her arms and held them out at her waist, and her voice picked up, the tremors of it sending chills down Aeëtes’s spine. It was a bone-chilling feeling that caused people to turn from her, and it only made him want to nuzzle closer to her like one of her dogs.
There was a loud shout, and the merchants had finally pushed past the last cart in their way. They charged forward, their blades held high as they shouted out misplaced battle cries, sounds that they had clearly never made before and would never make again. As the mismatched, bewitched group got closer, Aeëtes stepped back again until he was pressed up against the wall. He would’ve run, would’ve charged forward to distract them, but he remembered Hecate’s command. Nothing would move him from that spot.
He did, however, feel his anxiety begin to rise as the wicked knives got closer…and closer still… Even Hecate’s dogs were calm. The furor that they had possessed when he had seen them in the clearing was gone. They were downright stoic, as if they were made of marble and not pulsing witchcraft. Hecate, by comparison, was a live wire. Her arms were now covered in writing, Greek spells appearing all over her skin and pulsing with light. Her concentration was set on the merchants, her gaze unwavering, and not even a drop of sweat had broken out on her brow.
