Page 22 of Minas (Dying Gods #4)
Sira
“My lady? My lady? Are you awake?”
I stifle a groan of dismay, my eyes dry as I blink unseeingly in the darkness. No, not darkness, I realize, as my vision clears. It is that moment just before Appaliuna brings the sun over a sleeping world, when everything is wistful grey with the hope of a new day.
The day does not feel so hopeful now.
“My lady.” There’s an edge of panic to Lykos’ voice. He grabs me by the shoulders, shaking me gently. “We don’t have much time.”
“I’m awake.” My voice is thick with sleep. “Just give me a moment.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, pressing one hand to the bandage at my hip, internally assessing. It’s not as painful as last night. In fact, I feel the rest of my body more acutely—the ache in my arms and legs, a dull pain in my neck. It’s hard to say what is from Drania’s sword, and what is from sleeping on the cold, hard ground.
I give a sigh of relief and push up to my elbows. Perhaps the cut at my hip wasn’t as bad as I thought. It had seemed deep though. My stomach churns at the hazy memory of it. Even in the dim pre-dawn light, there is no mistaking the dried bloodstains on my clothes.
“They are coming.”
A flushed face appears from behind Lykos’ shoulder. Not Inanna, but one of Astarte’s servants whose name I have yet to learn. A woman with hair tightly knotted beneath the hood of her cloak and a brow slicked with sweat as if she has been running.
“The dogs, they are coming. Wake her. Or carry her. But we must go.”
“How far off were they, Asil?” Inanna asks, voice sharp. “How many?”
“I… I’m not sure,” the woman—Asil—pants. “It was too dark to see. But I could hear them down in the gully. I ran as fast as I could. They aren’t too close—they still have the face to climb. We should be able to keep ahead of them, if we leave now.”
I scramble to my feet, heart racing at the thought of being pursued. At the thought of my sister’s hunters and dogs racing after us in the dark.
“My lady,” Lykos grabs my arm, as if to steady me, an edge of panic to his voice. “Take care. Your injuries…”
“I’m fine,” I assure him, although I don’t know if that’s true. I straighten, not quite daring to meet his eyes, and look at Asil instead. “I’m ready,” I tell her.
Asil gives me an approving nod, then bends to help her companions collect up the last of our meagre belongings—a few scattered water skins, mostly empty packs, dirt-stained cloaks.
“I can carry you.” Lykos bends to whisper in my ear as he fastens my cloak around my shoulders. “There is no shame in it.”
It’s tempting. For a brief moment, I feel my body relax in his hold and imagine what it would be like to let him sweep me up, to let him bear the burden. I have never been more tired in my life, have never felt such pain radiating through my entire being. And he would ease it.
But then I think of my dream from the night before. Of that starry god standing before me, with the weight of the star-forged blade in my hands. Of Knossos spread out in the sunlight before me.
Take it, my child. It is a gift.
I tilt my head back to meet Lykos’ eyes, his pupils dark as the space between stars in the dim morning light. His brow is furrowed and his cheeks are rough, but his features are pleasing—a noble nose, eyes that tilt up at the corners, full lips.
For a man, for an Achean, he is almost pretty.
“That would slow us down,” I tell him. For some reason, the words come out breathless. Perhaps it is the thinness of the air this close to Mount Ida. “I should walk.”
The furrow in his brow deepens. “At least let me check your bandage. That sword wound…”
I shake my head, straightening my shoulders and pulling free from his grip. “There isn’t time.” I glance at Asil, at Inanna, at the other women bustling around our sad, makeshift campsite, doing their best to erase traces of our presence. It is a pointless task; I want to tell them. The dogs will find our scent regardless. “But there is one thing I must do before we go.”
Lykos gives me a quizzical look, and I tilt my head towards the trees. To where Drania’s body still lies, uphill from us, along the pathway, obscured by the boulders. “I must retrieve the stone.”
Movement in the clearing around me stills, and I know all of Astarte’s servants are looking at me. Listening to me. I swallow. “It was a gift from Asterion himself, from the god of starlight.”
I could say more, could tell them how that god came to me in my dreams, of what he told me. Of what he called me. My child . A few months ago, I would have told them. Lonely and hungry for affection, I would have melted beneath their notice, would have been beside myself with gratitude to them. I would have laid every secret bare before them.
Like I did for Britomartis.
Asil shakes her head in alarm. “There isn’t time. They’re coming.”
“Wasn’t it imbedded in Drania’s chest?” someone whispers with a shudder.
Lykos’ lip curls in disgust as he listens. “I will get it.” He hauls his pack over his shoulder, then throws his cloak over it before narrowing his eyes at Inanna. “I’ll meet you on the path. Look after my Minas.” He lifts one finger, pointing menacingly at the rest of Astarte’s servants. “I swear to Zeus, if you harm one hair on her head…”
Inanna’s nostrils flare with indignation. “I didn’t spend all night dressing her wounds just to have her get injured again, Achean. And she does not belong to you.”
She gathers up her own pack and urges me forward. Towards the trees, in the opposite direction that Lykos is going. Towards Zominthos, presumably, and away from the hunters in pursuit of us.
Lykos bares his teeth, looking ready to snap out some reply, then shakes his head with a frustrated growl and strikes out uphill, moving silently as a wolf through the trees.
I watch him go, shivering beneath my cloak, remembering his warmth and wishing I could call him back. But I don’t.
The women are silent as we trudge downhill, the only sound the soft crunch of booted feet on dried leaves. Slowly, the grey sky begins to lighten, turning translucent white, then pinkish, until the blackened fingers of the leafless trees are cast in stark relief against a burning sunrise.
When I glance behind me, Inanna shoots me a nervous look, her gaze dropping surreptitiously to my waist, to where my bandages are hidden beneath my clothes and cloak. I ignore it, focusing instead on the five women ahead of me on the trail, weaving single file through the trees.
There’s no path, or if there is, it’s not one that’s been traveled in a long time. It’s too steep for a cart. In some places, it’s too narrow for more than one person to walk. The trees become bigger too—young saplings giving way to ancient, thick-barked giants whose shadows blot out the rising sun. I pull the cloak around my shoulders, glancing behind to where Inanna follows at my back, then pull up short.
Five women are ahead of me. Only Inanna is behind me. There should be three more. Nine. There should be nine.
Dread spreads its icy tendrils down my spine as I look from Asil and the others to Inanna.
“Where are the others?” I whisper, the words sharp against the heavy silence of the sleeping forest. “Where are the other three?”
I think of Lykos, of his running bravely back to fetch the stone. He should have caught up with us by now, shouldn’t he? We have been walking long enough that my aching feet have gone numb, long enough that the sun is cutting over the distant ravine to the east, its golden rays filtering through the thick forest. Why hasn’t he caught up to us?
I turn to face Inanna, my hand going instinctively to my hip. To the blade that I no longer carry. Lykos’ blade , I remember. Not my own. Mine is just a stone. Perhaps not even that. Perhaps it was just a dream, and nothing more.
“Where is Lykos?” I hiss, nostrils flaring. I grit my teeth against the growing panic and clutch the fabric of my skirt beneath my cloak. It’s stiff, the wool hardened with dried blood and dirt.
Lykos ran to get that stone for me. Because of a dream I had. What if Inanna betrayed me, like Drania did? What if her women were lying in wait for him? What if, even now, he is fighting them off? Or worse, gone already, dead like Drania, his body sprawled out like an offering to the crows on Diktynna’s sacred soil?
Inanna steps towards me, her hands held out, palms up. “He’s coming. The others took the main path, my lady.” She grasps the gold, half-moon pendant at her chest, holding it out to me as if it offers irrefutable proof of her words. “I swear it. I swear it on Astarte. I sent them ahead before dawn, before Asil came back from her scouting mission. Goddess willing, the dogs will follow their scent and not ours, will follow the trail to Zominthos—only to find the prey too large to take.”
“It’s true, Minas.” Asil’s voice is low, steady. She reaches out as if to clap me reassuringly on the shoulder, then withdraws her hand, tightening it into a fist beneath her cloak. “Lykos knew the plan. It was discussed this morning, while you slept.”
While I slept . I scrub at my face, then cringe at of the feel of dirt and dried blood on my skin. While I slept . How many other plans have been made without my knowing? How many more times will I be moved from one place to another, like a piece in a game?
That is what Drania said I was, isn’t it? I was just a piece on the senet board, for others to move. She said it to hurt me, but I could feel the truth of her words like oil against my skin.
The realization has something bitter twisting within me. It’s the feeling of waking up after too much blue lily wine, or staring at weaving in a loom that I know I’ll need to unravel. It’s that first ‘no’ whispered after too many years of acquiescence, sharp as starlight against the black.
“Lykos said he’d meet us on the path.” I look between Inanna and Asil for confirmation. For any flicker of dishonesty. “Did he mean this path?”
Inanna dips her head. “This path goes to just north of Zominthos. The main path—the path the others took—it approaches Zominthos from the south.” She purses her lips, sharing a nervous glance with Asil. “It’s likely he will go to Zominthos first, if your sister’s hunters are pursuing him and the others. If the dogs are following his scent, he will not want to lead them to you.”
“They will follow his scent,” Asil says confidently. “His and the others. They will not take this path. I am sure of it.”
At my quizzical look, she adds, “This is just a hunting track. Few use it, and even fewer know of it. If the dogs are split between following the main route and taking an unmarked route through the trees, your sister’s hunters will take the main route. You can depend upon it.”
“You seem to know a lot about tracking,” I muse, my shoulders relaxing beneath my cloak. “For someone from Knossos. For a servant of Astarte.”
Asil straightens, chin lifting with pride. “I was not always a servant of Astarte.”
“My lady,” Inanna interrupts, wringing her hands. “We must keep moving. Please.”
I mutter out some agreement, some instinctive acquiescence, but I can’t help looking behind us. To where Lykos must be, somewhere through distance and trees.
I hesitate.
Trust your own judgement , Lykos had said. Trust your eyes and ears. Trust the sword in your hand .
In the distance, a dog yips. The sound is echoed by shouts, unfamiliar voices dancing off stone. My heart thunders. Lykos is there, somewhere, in the path of those hunters. He went back for me, and now he is at their mercy.
Go . The unspoken words sing alongside my thundering pulse as I stare up the hill. This way, this way, this way. To Lykos .
I swallow, mouth dry, and squeeze my eyes shut. What help can I be to him, unarmed and injured as I am? A minas in name only, without armies or allies or ships.
And yet I cannot stay here. And I will not flee when he is in danger.
I round on Inanna and Asil. “We go back,” I tell them, my voice full of authority that I have no right to. “I will not leave him.”
Mine , a voice whispers alongside my thundering pulse, though surely the thought is too wild and reckless to belong to me. Lykos is mine .
Asil shakes her head. Inanna opens her mouth to protest. The other women exchange irritated glances, as if silently saying who does this girl think she is, to send us to our deaths just for one Achean?
To Potina’s realm with them all.
I lift my chin, thinking of my mother. Thinking of the god in my dream. My child , he had called me. It cannot have been real, can it? Only, Drania is dead, and I’m alive and the blood remaining in my veins is singing go, go, go. To Lykos.
“I’m going back,” I say again, pointing up the steep incline.
The dogs are growing louder now. Closer. There is no mistaking it. A horse whinnies, the sound sharp and unfamiliar and dangerous.
They are coming. On horseback.
I imagine them surrounding Lykos, imagine him outnumbered, horse and spear and dog against one solitary Achean.
My Achean .
Anger boils up, hot and clawing behind my ribs. I grit my teeth, shooting the servants of Astarte one last look. “You may follow your minas to glory, or hide in the trees. But I am going. The gods are watching.”
Above us, someone screams. Swords clash, voices rise and fall, the sounds flowing down the steep incline like waves. I turn to scramble back up the incline. I don’t look back.