A/N: Okay, so Merry Christmas to all of you who celebrate it ... and I'm awfully sorry I haven't updated in so long ... I actually had this chapter typed up for quite a while, but I didn't upload it because, quite frankly, I think it's horrible. So you owe Nicola (the Epitome of Randomness) for guilting me into uploading this. I hope I don't disappoint too much.
Chapter Eight – Exodus
He cares for thee.
So? 'Tisn't as though thou encouraged him.
He's loyal, and brave, and respects thee.
And I allow him to live. What more is expected?
He's thy equal in skill.
In which case I should incinerate him, rather than conversing with myself. 'Tis madness.
Love is madness.
What was that? Ah, Artemis! If one could hear thee now … Aphrodite would never let thee live it down!
He loves me …
And thou knows this how? Stay thy hand, Artemis, and see reason, for Zeus's sake… what of thy pledge?
'Twon't be necessary to break it.
And thy standard? Will thou then stoop, to save thine own heart, and break another's?
What is this of mine heart?
Fie on thee, Artemis! You do not know thy own desire!
There is no desire!
Have it thy own way. But I speak'st true.
"My Lady?" His voice jolted her out of her reverie, and Artemis looked back.
"Yes, Orion?" His horse stood several feet behind hers, at a fork in the road, where a lopsided signboard protruded out of the ground. He looked uncomfortable.
"Forgive my forwardness, but thou have gone too far." Artemis wondered whether the awkwardness in his tone was due to fear of being incinerated, or because he hated pointing out her mistake. Another part of her berated her for not paying attention to her surroundings. You must maintain better control of thyself!
To Orion, she nodded; when she spoke, her voice was calm, collected. "Yes, it appears I have. Thank you. I commend thy vigilance."
The hunter bowed his head – a silent acceptance of her praise, and Artemis turned her mare around.
They had lost the trail a few days after Artemis's 'meeting' with the Manticore, near the port-town of Sitia, on the eastern side of Crete. Artemis was certain the monster would have entered the town; sailing ships left Sitia for Turkey regularly. She knew Orion shared her opinion. There was a subtle difference in their relationship – while he was as polite and affable (and thick-headed) as ever, and she was as removed and calm as always, there was an awkwardness about their interaction that had not been present before.
Inwardly, Artemis cursed herself – she had been a fool to not have seen something like this would happen. Outwardly, she was dignity itself.
They entered Sitia in the early afternoon, when the little town was bustling with activity. Mortals hurried hither and thither, conducting their everyday business; the narrow streets thronged with chariots, beasts of burden, and people on foot.
They made their way through the crowd, towards the docks, moving too slowly for Artemis's liking. Sirius trotted underneath the horses' bellies, to avoid being trampled. She saw the old lady only after the woman had almost been flattened by her mare's hooves. She pulled the horse back sharply, an apology on the tip of her tongue. The old woman, however, shot her one look before falling to her knees.
"Lady Artemis," she cried hoarsely. "An honor … an absolute honor!"
"Rise," Artemis told her. The mortal rose shakily, her head still bowed. "Has thou seen anything unusual, lately?" Artemis asked.
"My Lady would mean the monster," the old woman said to her feet. "It passed through just yesterday, and went towards the docks. Nobody else noticed," she confided. "And I thought it might notice that I could see it. So I hid, behind yonder stand." She gestured vaguely towards a fruit-stall laden with over-ripe produce, tended to by a half-asleep mortal man with watery blue eyes and a corpulent nose.
Artemis smiled. "You have done me a service," she said, placing several coins in the crone's withered palm. "You have but to call and I shall assist thee, should the need arise." Tears filled the old woman's eyes as she half-stepped, half-stumbled out of Artemis's way, her wasted fingers closing possessively over the handful of drachmas. Her thanks followed them down the street.
"She saw it," Orion sounded awed. Artemis nodded an affirmative – here, again, was his half-irritating, half-endearing tendency to point out the obvious. "But she was mortal," he protested.
Realization dawned on her, and Artemis twisted in her saddle. "Chiron did not tell thee, then?"
"Tell me what?"
"A handful of mortals are gifted with the Sight," Artemis said.
"The sight," Orion repeated, bemused.
"The Mist does not interfere with their vision – they see through it."
"So – that old lady," the hunter jerked his head in the crone's direction. "Saw thee for who thou are?"
Artemis nodded. "Yes, she did."
"Useful," Orion remarked, and Artemis felt a sudden surge of anger.
"I can see why thou were not taught this," she said harshly.
He flinched at her tone. "Because," she continued, feigning indifference, "thou 'heroes' would take advantage of them. That is what thou does, is it not? Look for strengths and weaknesses in others, and use them."
Orion's mouth set in a hard, thin line. "And you do not?" he asked quietly. A part of Artemis's mind whispered, he's right, and thou knows it. She ignored it.
"I am a goddess," she retorted. A poor comeback, but not one that could be disputed with.
His face told her he was hurt, angry, and wanted to argue further. His voice said, "My Lady." And Artemis faced forward again, a turmoil of conflicting emotions brewing in her heart.
The innkeeper at the Siren's Serenade, a pub at the docks habitually frequented by sailors, was a tall, stooped old man with a thin, croaky voice as unlike a siren's as a purr is a roar.
"Has thou had a man in here?" Orion asked brusquely, in response to the innkeeper's
" 'ow may I be of assistance?" His demeanor had been rather sullen ever since they'd seen the mortal lady with the Sight.
"I 'ave 'ad lots of men in 'ere," the innkeeper replied, a faint smile curving his thin mouth. "What did 'e look like?"
Orion closed his eyes, fighting back a smile, and Artemis's lips twitched.
"I was getting to that," the hunter said, and went on to repeat the description of the Manticore's face that Artemis had told him. "He was white-blond, with blue eyes, a pointed nose –"
"And Cupid's mouth – and 'e was tall, and 'ad no cloak, and was brusquer than thou art, young man," the innkeeper completed. Orion had the grace to look embarrassed.
"Yes, I 'ad such a customer. Didn't want anything to drink, just asked when the next ship to Antalya set sail."
"What did thou tell him?"
"Well, I said, 'Not for two days, sir,' and 'e gave me this look as suggested t'were my fault," the old man shook his grizzled head, "'e left yesterday mornin', on the Vengeance."
"Is there a ship leaving today?"
"The Mount Olympus sails in some time," the innkeeper pointed a gnarled finger at a burly man sitting with an equally bulked-up group of rowdy sailors at the most central table in the pub, raising a foaming tankard. "That's 'er captain. You might want to 'ave a word with 'im, see if 'e'll let thee on board. Is it a pursuit, then?" He added knowingly.
"Yes," Orion said shortly. The innkeeper seemed disappointed at the lack of details.
"Very well," he said.
"Thank you," Orion placed several drachmas on the counter. The old man pocketed them, nodding.
The hunter approached the group of sailors, who fell silent as he neared. "What does thou want?" the captain asked.
"We wish to sail to Antalya," Orion informed him.
The captain scratched his chin, looking him up and down. "I don't take passengers," he said.
"Money is of no concern," and Orion removed a pouch from within his cloak. Artemis tsked silently. Spendthrift. The captain regarded him shrewdly, and then rose.
"Come with me," he instructed, leading them away from his crew.
"I'm a man short," he confided. "My steersman up and ran a few days ago … so if thou has experience in sailing, I'd be glad to take thee, provided thou pays the girl's fare." He jerked his head in Artemis's direction, and muttered, "Bad luck to have a woman on board, but I need the money." Artemis's fingers twitched.
"You will address her as Lady," Orion said quietly, a hint of steel in his voice. "I will pay thy price. You are fortunate … I am somewhat experienced in sailing." Liar, Artemis thought. Sailing is in thy blood.
"Can thou steer?" The captain demanded, his eyes narrowed. There was a seemingly unconscious, almost imperceptible tightening in the muscles of his jaw.
"Among other things," Orion smiled, his hand drifting carelessly to the knife in his belt. The man took the hint.
"All right," he allowed. "We leave in an hour. Be at the Mount Olympus before then." He returned to the rest of the crew.
"You oughtn't to have goaded him," Artemis hissed as they left the inn.
"He insulted thee," Orion said tightly.
"Even so," Artemis said, "You would have come to a fight, and then where would thou be?"
"Elysium, I hope," Orion said, a corner of his mouth pulling up into a half-smile.
"With thy hastiness?" Artemis snapped. "You would probably wander Asphodel for eternity."
He stiffened, and his face settled into the surly mask he'd been wearing earlier. Artemis sighed.
When they reached the horses, Artemis pulled herself into the mare's saddle, then stood waiting for Orion to mount. He was stroking Sirius's ears absent-mindedly, while pretending to listen to something the horse had to say. "Orion?" Artemis asked impatiently. "Are thou planning to mount soon?"
The hunter looked up at her. "There's something I want to do first," he said. Artemis raised her eyebrows. "Is there, now? What is it?"
The shadow of a grin crossed his face. "You will have to wait and see."
"And I assume thou will do this – whatever it is – on thy own?"
"Do I look like a child to thee?" Orion asked sullenly.
"Honestly speaking, yes," Artemis said, unable to resist.
"Well, the innkeeper it is, then," Orion said softly, and Sirius seemed to grin in answer.
"Orion!" Artemis set her teeth. Why do I put up with thee, anyhow?
"I meant no disrespect, my Lady," the hunter said innocently, "but to answer thy question, yes, I would prefer to do this alone, although 'tisn't as though I can pretend to tell thee what to do."
She decided to let it go. "Tarry not," she instructed.
"I won't," Orion said obediently, and placing his foot in the stirrup, hoisted himself into the saddle.
She rode slowly past the various ships docked at the pier, ignoring the doubtful looks directed her way as eyes fell upon her. She could almost hear their thoughts aloud – a woman, riding alone, in a predominantly male area? How scandalous. It was late afternoon; most of the people who came to buy fish and the like were gone, and the vendors were packing up and putting unsold merchandise away. The crews of various sailing ships were readying them for departure – their shouts echoing in discordant harmony with the crashing of the waves. The sky overhead was a pale, washed out blue; the sun was an incandescent yellow orb on the horizon, winking cheerily at her. Artemis felt a rush of nostalgia as she remembered Apollo – she hadn't seen him since he had Iris-messaged her in the Dying Huntsman, and four weeks had elapsed between then and now. The last of summer had somehow faded away during her time on the road; and autumn wrapped her arms around the world – Demeter's mourning prevalent in the coldness of the air, the reddening of the leaves, the withering of the flowers, the embroidered shawls draped around the women's shoulders.
The Mount Olympus was the last ship tied up at the dock. Her hull bore her name in peeling gold letters, and the tightly furled fabric of her sails had clearly seen better days, but she floated proudly, her scrubbed wooden decks shining in the sunlight. Artemis approached the ship. A sailor looked over the side and shouted, "Name thy business!"
"I'm meant to board," Artemis called back. "Thy captain hired my brother – he's to be the new steersman!" Her voice wavered a little on the words 'my brother' and Artemis shook herself. Since when did thou have qualms about lying?
The sailor frowned; she could see his thick, bushy eyebrows contract from where she stood. "No women are allowed aboard the Mount Olympus," he said. "'Tis bad luck!"
The ship's captain appeared then, saying, "'Tis all right, man! Lower the gangplank!" The sailor started to protest, but the captain stood firm, and the plank was lowered, and Artemis trotted her mare up to the deck.
The rapid clatter of hooves on cobblestone sounded then, and Orion's horse cantered up to the ship. "You took thy time," Artemis snapped, when the gangplank had been raised and the sails unfurled. He stood at the helm, one hand draped casually over the wheel, surveying the deck. Sailors rushed about haphazardly; the captain stood with his back to the mizzenmast, barking orders. "They're extremely disorganized," Orion remarked. "I could sail this ship alone." His previous bad humor seemed to melt away as soon as he had stepped on board.
Yes, I know thou could. "Where were thou, anyway?" The ship veered to port then, facing the open sea. "At a stand in the marketplace," he said. "I saw thee when thou passed … I'm surprised you did not see me."
"What were thou doing?" Artemis asked impatiently.
"Making a purchase," Orion told her, smiling teasingly. "What else does one do at a market?"
"You are hopeless," was Artemis's rejoinder, and she turned, walking through the chaotic disorder to her cabin and shutting the door firmly behind her.
The knock at her door came what seemed like ages later, although in truth it might have been less than an hour. Artemis looked up from the maps she had been poring over. "Come in," she called, after what she hoped was a respectable interval, and Orion entered the cabin.
"Would thou object to stepping out for a moment?" He sounded extremely hopeful.
Artemis knitted her brow. "Whatever for?"
"If thou comes out, thou will see," he said enticingly. Artemis set the maps down, after folding them carefully, and stood, crossing to the door. Orion held it open for her. "You're being very chivalrous," she remarked.
"I am always chivalrous," he said, pretending to look wounded, and Artemis laughed.
The sky was a far cry from the azure it had been earlier; now, its vast expanse was splashed with fiery oranges and passionate reds fading to a deep indigo. The tip of the sun glowed crimson amidst this splendor; it seemed to sink into an ocean of melted gold. Wave crests rose out of the water – Artemis caught sight of a herd of hippocampi riding the surges. She rested her elbows on the ship's side, drinking in the pure majesty of the sunset. Thank you, Apollo.
Orion laid a hand on her shoulder. "Artemis?"
Surprise that he had addressed her by name colored her tone, "Yes?"
"I have something for thee."
What can thou give me that I have not, already? "What is it?"
He removed a small wooden chest from inside his cloak, placing it in her hand. Intricate carvings decorated the wood. "It's beautiful," Artemis said.
Orion laughed. "Open it," he told her, and without waiting for her to prise it open, he plucked it from her fingers, unfastening the little brass clasp. Artemis had to smile at his eagerness. Nestled within the box was a polished silver scallop and chain. Sunlight glinted off of its glossy smoothness. He opened this as well, to reveal a large, creamy-white pearl, gleaming lustrously.
"You told me that I took advantage of others, because of who I am," Orion said, his eyes searching her face. "The - pearl - it is my loyalty that I have given thee. I will never manipulate thee, or treat thee unfairly. "
Artemis lifted the scallop out of the box, fingering the pearl. "You do know what that means?" she asked wonderingly.
The hunter smiled. "I do. The pearl – it will break, if I should prove false."
Artemis's breath caught. "You would sacrifice –"
"Others have, for thee," Orion told her. "Why should I not, as well?" His words lingered in the air, as though volumes had been said, but the complete works yet remained.
Artemis snapped the scallop shut, holding up the chain. "Clasp it for me, will thou?"
He obliged, setting the box down and placing the chain around her neck. The scallop settled into the hollow at her throat. Tears pricked Artemis's eyes. "Well?" she asked with false cheeriness. "How does it look?"
"Beautiful." He seemed unable to say more. Artemis swallowed.
"Thank you," she said thickly. "But thou should not have –"
Orion shook his head, placing a finger on her lips. Artemis's eyes widened at his touch; a jolt ran through her body. Too close, too close. Her eyes fluttered shut involuntarily; she felt the whisper of his breath on her skin. Cool sea breezes, and wildflowers. She shook her head frantically. "Orion, please, do not do this," she forced herself to look at him. Worlds of hurt shone in his eyes. "I am so sorry," Artemis said. "I – I cannot. You – you know I cannot." Her hand gripped his arm; she raised her tear-filled eyes to his; the gray in them was almost silver, like the stars. "You cannot understand," she whispered. "I- " Her breath came in hitching gasps; her lips trembled. Pathetic. He brought a hand up, prising her fingers from his arm. The hand hung limply at her side, the fingers automatically curling inwards to her palm.
"I apologize for causing thee such distress," he said formally. "Be assured I shall not broach the subject again."
"I accept thy apology," Artemis said faintly, her eyes closed. A tear escaped from beneath the lid, coursing down her cheek. He touched the scallop with a tip of his finger. "You wear my heart," he told her. "I thank thee." And he turned and walked away, towards the ship's helm.
"Thank you," Artemis whispered after him. "I know. And – I – love thee."
A/N: Yes it's long ... I hope I haven't bored you *shudders*. Click on that button down there, and tell me what you think!
