DESPITE HER PROFOUND NEED to guard against the dark sorcery of her sister, Ariadne nevertheless found time to write a letter to her faithful regent Daedelus, whom she had shamefully neglected to write to after her exile on Naxos had come to an end. But then, she thought, her mind had been on other things besides her kingdom. Still, she was the ruler of Knossos, and she knew that soon she must return there and resume her duties as Priestess-Queen. But not just yet. Phaedra must be dealt with first, and to that end she set about informing Daedelus of her horrifying discovery.
Daedelus, Regent and Chief Architect of Knossos:
My dear friend, you are probably wondering why you have heard no word from me, despite the fact that my exile was ended four months ago. I am ashamed to admit that my mind and heart were otherwise occupied with matters not concerning rulership of my kingdom. A sad trait in a ruler, no doubt, though one I mean to correct posthaste. Until then, I leave Crete in your most capable hands. I will be forever grateful to you for your wise stewardship of my kingdom, no one could ask for a better regent . . .or a better friend. But now I must tell you of a secret so deep and dark that none but myself knows of it. Phaedra, my little sister, has turned to the Forbidden Arts and become a priestess of Hecate, the Dark Lady. Even now, those words burn my soul, and I want to deny them with all my heart. But I cannot. For the irrefutable proof is before my eyes. How could you not have known, you ask? I can only say that my sister was cleverer than we knew, and we who love her were blind to the darkness within. On the surface she appeared to be nothing more than a pretty spoiled child, too used to getting her own way and in need of firm discipline. That was what she may have been once, but that Phaedra does not exist any more. Now she is a woman, fully grown, with all of an adult's wiles and knowledge. I had thought once that I could prevent this, that by raising her in my temple she would abandon her self-centered ways and become a better, more caring person. I thought I had succeeded that the madness that possessed Minotauros had died with him. I was wrong.
The madness that ran in Minotauros's veins runs in hers as well, though more insidious and sly that ever it did in his. I have seen in my scrying bowl and held in my hand a cursed charm of dark magic, meant to harm my innocent child, that the woman I once called my sister is now given wholly into Hecate's darkness. She has sold her soul willingly and in the name of her dark mistress may well commit even more atrocities. So, beware Daedelus, for forewarned is forearmed. Trust none of her servants, for they might well be her followers, and watch your back. The servants of the Dark Lady strike swiftly and under cover of night.
This much I know, she believes herself safe, her dark secret undiscovered. She has two main obsessions, power and Theseus, and to gain those goals, she will attempt anything. It grieves me deeply to say this, for I cannot help but remember the laughing child I held in my arms and taught to ride and dress in seven-tiered skirts. But my Gift has shown me otherwise, that the child is no more, and in her place is a servant of the Dark, my ancient foe, who must be dealt with swiftly and without mercy. May the Goddess help me! I will do what I must, old friend; though my heart breaks because of it. No more innocents must suffer.
I must act and soon. Be prepared, old friend. May the gods smile upon you.
Ariadne, Priestess-Queen of Knossos
After sealing the letter with blue wax and her personal seal, a sheaf of wheat encircled by a crown, Ariadne went personally down to the marketplace where the scribe's offices were and handed the precious document in a case to a young messenger, whom she had first scanned with her Gift to ensure that he was honest and trustworthy. "Deliver this at once to the Regent of Knossos, Daedelus. Place it no hands but his, is that understood?"
"Aye, Your Majesty," the messenger stammered, in awe that a person of her rank would come herself to deliver a message. "It will be in the regent's own hands in three days, you have my word."
"It is of the utmost importance, and I thank you." Ariadne handed him a small pouch of gold.
The messenger's eyes widened at the amount. "But, my Lady this is too much!"
"No. You will have earned twice that if you complete your task, trust me. Now go, and may the blessing of the Mother go with you." At those words, Ariadne used her Gift to place a protective shield about him, one that would ensure he reached his destination unharmed. She was taking no chances. No more innocent lives would be lost to the Dark Lady's lust for blood and death.
The messenger departed, bowing low to her, and left at a dead run for the docks, the scroll tucked safely in his messenger bag. Ariadne watched until he was out of sight then breathed a sigh of relief. No dark sending had followed him.
The Priestess-Queen began to make her way back to the palace, walking slowly through the crowded marketplace, when a young woman approached her. "My Lady, wait!"
Ariadne stopped and turned to face a tall, dark-haired woman in the blue dress of a weaver woman, carrying a basket on her arm. "Yes, Daughter?" she addressed the woman as a priestess attending a suppliant. "What would you have of me?"
"I wish, my Lady, to know the future of my unborn child." The woman said, one hand cupping her barely rounded belly.
Ariadne was surprised at the request, for this was the first such person to ask her for a foretelling since she had come to Athens. At Knossos and Naxos she had heard petitions daily, but here in Athens it seemed people had forgotten she was a priestess and only spoke of how she had returned to claim Theseus for her own. As if I could claim him, like a stray dog! She thought wryly. I can no more claim him than I can claim the sea.
"Should you not go first to your own priests, Daughter, and ask them?" Ariadne asked softly. "I have heard the priests of Poseidon can foretell in the waves."
"I have, Lady, and the High Priest Acteon himself bade me to ask you. He said the Sea Lord had no answers for me."
"I shall ask the Mother then, but I cannot promise you an answer," Ariadne said, giving the ritual response. The Sight was a mercurial Gift and came and went as it chose.
The woman nodded.
"Give me your hand, Daughter."
The woman did so, and at her touch Ariadne felt the familiar sensation of power flow through her as the Vision trance took her. "Thebe, daughter of Lyseus, you shall bear a fine, healthy son. He will be the delight of your heart and skilled as his father in the leatherworker's art. He will bring honor to your house."
Ariadne blinked sharply, coming out of the trance. "That is all I have been given to see."
"Thank you, my Lady!" the woman cried.
"The blessings of the Mother go with you."
From that day on, as if the coming of the young woman had been a silent signal, more and more Athenians came to her, asking for glimpses of the future. Most of these were women, as Dia was traditionally a goddess of women, but men came also, shyly at first, but bolder when they realized she would neither turn them away or laugh at their questions for a good harvest, a successful hunt, a solution to a difficult decision. At first Ariadne was dismayed at the number of petitioners, numbers that began to grow daily. While she did not mind giving advice, for such was her calling, she nevertheless did not want to intrude on the local priests of Poseidon, whose duty it was to care and nurture the people of Athens. To ward off any hurt feelings, she sent a messenger to the Temple of the Sea Lord, explaining that the people had come to her through their own will and not her own doing, and that she would refer them to the Temple if such was their wish.
The answer she got back was from the High Priest of Poseidon, written in his own hand. "We are grateful for any assistance you wish to give, Lady. Far from offending, you honor us by tending to our people as if they were your own. The people of Athens are many, and often my brothers and sisters and I are hard put to tend all of them, as we ought to. None of us possess the clarity of Sight and Healing you do, those areas not being high in Poseidon's sphere of influence. Those, as I'm sure you know, are the prime attributes of the Mother, and we would not presume to take offense at your unlooked for charity and kindness. May the Sea Lord's wind blow fair at your back."
Thus she spent the week waiting for the return of Daedelus response to her letter answering petitions and tending to the sick, much as she had done all her life. A part of her remained ever alert for any sign of dark magic, for Phaedra's betrayal haunted her continuously, but her sister remained elusive and secretive, and worked no more spells. The work left her pleasantly weary, the kind of weariness that comes of doing something difficult but rewarding over and over.
She soon had access to the castle's extensive herb stores and stillroom, where she and her assistants brewed teas and decoctions, salves and syrups and antiseptic washes as needed. Though she had the power to Heal with a touch, she rarely called upon her Gift, for it drained her of strength and vitality at an alarming rate. She healed mostly with herbs, only using her power on those who were desperately ill and in dire pain. All those she healed in that manner came away profoundly changed, for having felt the touch of the Goddess, even for such a brief moment, left a mark upon the one so touched, and they never forgot it.
Most of the people came to her during the day, leaving her nights free to tend to her daughter, who had quickly become the pet of Theseus's private guard and the bane of the stablemaster, whom Alethea regarded as a fool for trying to train animals as if they were too stupid to understand what was wanted of them, and often interfered if she felt he was being too harsh with his charges. Ariadne had patiently tried to explain to her daughter that giving unwanted advice in such a manner was bad manners, but Alethea only answered stubbornly, "But he's wrong, Mama, to treat horses and dogs as if they were no better than—than swords and hoes, to obey as if they had no feelings and thoughts of their own, and beat them if they don't understand what he wishes. I can hear them, just as well as I can hear you, and I can speak to them so they understand why I want them to do a thing, and they help me because they want to, not because I make them with whips and sticks. Animals aren't meant to serve us, and they aren't stupid, either! They know a lot we don't, and we could learn, if we just listened. I told that idiot stablemaster so, but he only laughed at me and told me to quit bothering the grown-ups and go play with my dolls!" Here Alethea tossed her head scornfully and said in an aggravated tone, "Dolls! I stopped playing with dolls when I was four, and I found I could talk to animals. I know more about animals then he'll ever learn in all his life, the old clodhopper. I hope that Phoenix colt kicks him a good one!"
Here Ariadne had to fight to keep from laughing, for she knew her daughter spoke the truth, but still the child must learn restraint when dealing with the non-Gifted, or else find herself looked upon as a troublemaker and an outcast. "That may well be true, Alethea, but no adult likes to be told what to do by an arrogant child, even if that child happens to be right. You must learn to use your Gift more subtly, speak to the animal he's training, not to him, that way the animal will understand and Master Kleitus will think he's done his job well in training it."
"But wouldn't that be lying, sort of, making him think he's done something he hasn't?"
"No, Alethea. It'd be doing them both a kindness. Let the stablemaster have some pride, after all. It's important to a man."
Alethea looked at her mother thoughtfully from wide aquamarine eyes, then she nodded. "All right. I'll do it your way."
Ariadne silently congratulated herself, for it was not easy dealing with a Gifted child, especially not one so daring and precocious as Alethea, who often acted first and thought later. Ariadne's own Gifts had come later than her daughter's had and she had been reluctant and afraid of them, unlike Alethea, who reveled in them. Ariadne gave thanks to the Goddess that Alethea's Gifts of animal speech and empathy were such that they fostered a need to protect and care for others, by their very nature teaching her to be unselfish and kind. With her heritage, the child could have inherited many other Talents, ones that might have led her to the same failings of pride and arrogance that crippled Phaedra and Minotauros.
In a way, she was grateful for the distractions the people and her daughter offered her, for it kept her from dwelling on the need to act against Phaedra, as she knew she must. Part of her burned with a cold, icy rage at what Phaedra had done and still might do to those Ariadne cared for; yet another part of her was numb with anguish at the thought that she might need to do her sister harm before this was over. Even the knowledge that Phaedra was a servant of her mortal enemy gave her no comfort, and only increased her feeling of guilt. Perhaps if she had paid closer attention, she could have seen this flaw in Phaedra sooner and prevented all of this. Around and around her thoughts circled, like wolves trailing a hapless deer, they gave her no escape. The only time she was free of her endless doubt and sorrow was when she was healing or answering petitions, and so she worked from dawn to dusk.
Her unflagging devotion soon came to the attention of the High Priest, Acteon, and he was pleased to find that Ariadne could care so much for the Athenians. He wondered why it should be so, and sought her out to ask her.
Ariadne had, at that moment, just received Daedelus's letter, and her hands clutched the sealed scroll with shaking fingers. At last she would learn of her old teacher's council, who had always been wise and resourceful, and who might have found a solution to her problem that did not involve death. She reached for her small belt knife to break the seal when a footstep was heard in the doorway.
Sighing, Ariadne set aside the scroll for later, when she could read it in private, without being disturbed by another petitioner. She felt a sudden flash of irritation at the unwanted interruption. Mother's Grace, can they not figure out their own problems for once? To her surprise she saw not another humble petitioner, but a broad shouldered man of middle years wearing a sea-blue robe with gold embroidery at the cuffs and hem. He had a neat gray beard and sharp, piercing blue eyes. About his neck he wore a gold medallion carved with a wave surmounted by a leaping dolphin—the holy symbol of Poseidon Sea Lord.
"Forgive me for disturbing you, Lady," said the man, bowing gracefully, not submissively, but out of respect for an equal, as was polite. "I am Acteon, High Priest of Poseidon. I would have introduced myself sooner, but I fear my work has kept me a prisoner until now."
"I understand perfectly, my Lord." Ariadne laughed, liking this man instantly. "Here in Athens you have more people than I and my priestesses in Knossos have had in ten years, and so many of them wish answers to questions right now, that I don't know how you manage to keep up with it all!"
"Most of the time, we can't."Acteon admitted. "That's why I was so grateful when they started bringing some of their questions to you. It cut back tremendously on our workload, and gave us, I must confess, some time to ourselves which we badly needed. Sad to say, there haven't been many young lads who want to become priests any more. Now all they want to do is become warriors and go dashing off to win fame and glory in some battle and come back badly in need of healing or last rites instead." Acteon shook his head in disgust. "I try to tell them so, but do they listen? Of course not."
"Such is the way of the young, to learn wisdom the hard way, if they ever learn it at all."
"You are wise for one so young. Though I shouldn't be surprised, considering you are the Chosen of the Mother. Still, it is rare to find one who has served in so many different places so young. Is it true that you were a priestess of Naxos as well as Crete?"
"Yes, I served in the temple there for five years, as the Mother bade me. Then I came here."
"And how do you find the people of Athens, as compared to those of Knossos and Naxos?"
"I find them much the same, Acteon. No matter if you serve in the High Temple of Knossos or a small shrine on Naxos or here in the palace courtyard, people are people. They all have the same hopes, and fears, and dreams, and wishes whether they are poor or rich or are fishermen in Knossos or weavers in Athens. They might dress differently and think differently and follow different laws and customs but those are only on the surface. In here—" she touched her heart, "where it matters, we are the same. You were wondering how I could care for your people as I do for my own. My answer is that Athenian or Cretan, it makes no difference. The Mother made us all, and as her Chosen I am given to care for all of them. Your people or mine, we are all one."
"Truer words were never spoken, Ariadne. I wish all of my brothers could see as well as you do, it would prevent intolerance and misunderstanding."
"It is easy to see, Acteon, when you have an empath's eyes. Or are willing to look. We have a saying on Knossos, "The wise man looks twice, the fool not at all". Sadly it is easier for men to be fools instead of wise."
"I suppose I ought to be grateful for that. If more men were wise, they'd not need me to answer their questions and I'd be out of work."
Ariadne chuckled. "Have no fear on that account, my friend. The gods made more fools than wise men, I think it amuses them."
"So it does, so it does. We Athenians have a saying, "The gods watch over little children, fools, and orphans." I have found it to be true more than once. But I see you have a letter you're waiting impatiently to read, so I'll not bore you with philosophical discussions, and take my leave. I confess I came here out of curiosity and to bid you welcome to Athens."
Ariadne stared at him, embarrassed to have been read so easily. "Are you sure you're not an empath, Acteon?"
"Positive. Only very keen-eyed and observant. My one advantage over the younger acolytes who think that being a priest of Poseidon makes them all-knowing and somehow better than ordinary people."
"I beg your pardon, then, for I don't find you boring at all, quite the opposite. It's been a long time since I had someone like you to talk to, someone who is not afraid to speak his mind and not in awe of my rank. Not since my old teacher, in fact, whose letter arrived just before you came. I asked him a rather puzzling question and am anxious to see what he replied."
"I'll not keep you further then."Acteon said, his blue eyes twinkling.
"Please, come back any time and we can talk, Acteon."
"I will try and schedule my arrivals in-between letters." He said, grinning. "I look forward to seeing you again, Lady Ariadne."
"And I you, Lord Acteon."
Then the High Priest took his leave and Ariadne could hear his loud bellow outside in the courtyard, bidding all the petitioners to return home, that the Lady would answer no more of their questions today. Smothering a grin, Ariadne reached for the letter, feeling her stomach churn as she did so. A useful ally, indeed. I must remember to stay on good terms with him, he may help me in the fight against Phaedra.
To Most Holy Ariadne, Priestess-Queen of Knossos:
My dear girl I am delighted to hear from you at last, it has been so long since we corresponded. I must say your handwriting has improved (I can actually read it!) Just a little humor to liven things up. Not that they aren't lively enough already. Here in Knossos things remain pretty much as they always were, save for the fact that the treasury is no longer empty and I've actually managed to install a public works system to maintain the roads, sewers, and aqueducts and in the process granted hundreds of jobs to previously out of work fisherman and herders. A useful thing, wouldn't you say? It was either that or have hundreds of disgruntled people on your hands clamoring for help in feeding their families and threatening to start a riot. I tried explaining this to your sister, but she refuses to listen and insists on treating the common people as if they were no better than slaves.
I can't say that I'm surprised by your news, I had always thought she was a sneaky, unscrupulous brat, even as a child. (I apologize, but it is the truth.) I tried my best to teach her to govern wisely and well, but your sister was not interested in ruling justly, only in reaping the benefits of power. She is, and always will be, self-centered and power-hungry. Not all of my counseling and sternness could change that about her, so don't blame yourself for the path she chose to walk. With her attitude, I think it was inevitable. Much like Minotauros.
I thank you for the warning, but I have already taken steps to guard myself. Not for the world would I allow myself to be captured by a servant of the Dark Lady, I know too well what they would do to me. But you, my dear, are closer to danger than I. Always your first concern has been for others: me, Alethea, Theseus, your people. I tell you now, as friend and teacher, look to yourself first. Don't allow compassion to overwhelm your good sense, nor guilt prevent you from doing what must be done. I know you still think of her as your little sister, but know that she does not see you as anything but a rival, one that she must destroy. Whatever good was in her is dead now, lost to the black sorcery. You must act now, and slay the serpent when she still sleeps. Show no mercy, for none will be shown you. May the Mother and the Sea Lord keep you safe.
Your friend and mentor,
Daedelus, Regent and Chief Architect of Knossos
An icy wind blew through the corridor of her soul, as she reread the final lines of the missive again. Whatever good was in her is dead now, lost to the black sorcery. Don't allow compassion to overwhelm your good sense . . . Show no mercy, for none will be shown you. The wordsput the deathblow to her hopes of a peaceful resolution. How well Daedelus knew her! For had she not, in her deepest heart, hoped for a miracle, some way that the battle could be avoided, that she might not have to fight the woman whom she had once loved? She had known even then that it was a false hope. But she could not help herself, anymore than a falcon could help flying. The shadows she had seen hovering about her sister had claimed her completely. There was no hope for redemption.
Anguish tore at her, biting deep, and leaving wounds that would never heal. Is this to be my fate, forever more? To destroy my family? First Minotauros, now Phaedra. Oh, Minotauros left me no choice, he was a mad thing and no love was lost between us. But Phaedra, she is different! I raised her, I lost my heart to her. Once she loved me, long ago when she was a little girl, loved me and admired me. When did that change, little sister? Was it because of Meliantha, who encouraged Phaedra to notice men and behave as she did, and condemned me because I would not do the same? Or was it simply adolescent jealousy, that Theseus preferred me to her? I had hoped that she would forget, and find someone of her own that she could find happiness with. Instead she chose to wallow in envy and let it eat away at her soul. I was blind to her for so long, but now I see, now when it is too late. I can no longer protect her from herself, deny the truth. Phaedra, daughter of Pasiphae and Minos, she who was once my sister, is dead to me. There is only the priestess of Hecate, the Dark Lady, and we are declared enemies, now and forever more. "May the Mother bear witness, I declare you outcast and oathbreaker, never to be redeemed save in death."
There, the words were said. The irrevocable words that declared open war between them, not to be ended until one or the other was dead. As soon as she spoke them, she felt the strength of her Goddess rise in her, as the deity heard and sanctioned her oath. As you have spoken, daughter, so it shall be.
The Mother's tone was as hard and unbending as steel, as the rocks beneath her feet. But was there a touch of pity there as well? In any case, it did not matter. Once spoken, the words could not be unsaid. By her own lips, she had condemned Phaedra to death.
With a sharp cry, Ariadne rose and hurled Daedelus's letter into the fire. It was consumed almost immediately by the hungry flames, dying as the last of her fragile hopes had died. The Priestess-Queen of Knossos stared into the fire, and silent tears welled from her green eyes to drip unseen upon the floor.