Chapter Eighteen
Never had a man held my attention more. He was dressed in a simple white chiton, though the fabric barely made it a quarter of the way down his thighs, every inch of which was taut with muscle.
A bow rested over his shoulder, while a quiver filled with arrows sat on his hip.
On his other side stood Phile, her arm looped in his, her head barely reaching his shoulder.
As she stepped inside, the women flocked to her with questions of Eleni.
“She will heal.” Phile quieted them. “Thalia has been with her, and now she needs rest. With rest, she will return to perfect health. I promise you.”
“She cannot return to him. He will do it again.”
“We should do the same to him. He deserves to suffer for what he has done to her.”
I heard all their words and agreed wholeheartedly, yet my gaze remained on Hirtus.
During the commotion, he had released his wife’s arm and moved to the far side of the compound, where he pulled a goatskin from the drying racks.
Phile followed far more slowly, weaving her way through the gabbling protest. She raised her voice.
“I thought perhaps you would like a distraction. It has been many moons since we tried our hands at archery. I thought it would do us good to focus our frustration.”
She gestured toward Hirtus, who placed his bow and quiver on the ground a distance away from the skin.
Had this woman not already gained my respect from the way she spoke of the afterlife and the way these women doted on her, that moment was when I saw the true extent of her wisdom.
All these women, myself included, were itching for a fight, ready to wage battles they would not win. They needed this.
“Mother, the horses?” Aina tugged at Iphinone’s chiton. “It is the afternoon. They will be waiting for me.”
“We will go this evening.”
“But, Mother—”
“We will go this evening or not at all.”
I had never heard Iphinone raise her voice at her daughter before, and Aina fell silent.
Several of the women had already made their way toward the bow and arrows, though none had dared to pick them up. It was Phile who finally gave the command.
“Damaris, you go first.”
Of all the women there, Damaris was not the one I would have picked, and I thought perhaps Phile had only chosen her because of her closeness to Eleni. But despite her size—little larger than Aina—Damaris picked the bow up easily.
“Do you recall how to hold it?” Hirtus’s voice was as deep as I remembered but had a far softer timbre.
“Like this?” Damaris shifted her position, raising the bow.
“Good,” Hirtus said, “but there is no need to lift it yet. Not until you have the arrow nocked. Can you do that?” He handed her an arrow, which she fastened wordlessly to the string of the bow before raising her arms again. “Good. Now take your time.”
Silence filled the compound; all our eyes were on Damaris. I held my breath as I waited for the moment of release.
It came with a soft twang. The arrow shot through the air with a thin whistling sound as it headed toward the skin, only to miss by the width of a whisker.
“Not bad,” Hirtus said as he handed her another arrow. “Here. Go again.”
Damaris hit the skin after four tries, though only on the edge, and I could tell she wished for more practice. But there were other women waiting to try it now, myself included.
One by one, the women made their way to the front, picked up the bow, drew and nocked an arrow, and fired. After Damaris, no others struck the target, though they came close. It was only when Althea approached the bow that she turned and looked at me.
“Otrera, come. You have waited long enough.”
“It is your turn.”
“I can wait.”
Excitement fluttered within me, though I tried to dull it.
“I do not even know how to hold the bow.”
“Hirtus will guide you. Come. That bruise the horse gave you will soon fade. It is time you caused yourself some more damage.”
Laughter rattled in the courtyard, but it was good-natured, and I felt little trepidation as I took the bow and turned to Hirtus.
“Like this?” I had watched how the other women had done it, and I repeated their movements as closely as I could. The nock fitted into the bowstring with a satisfying pluck.
“Good. Now, lift, draw, aim, and release.” Hirtus’s instructions were brief but effective.
With my top two fingers, I pulled the string toward me.
When I paused, Hirtus spoke again. “A little farther. Use your back.”
Only when the heel of my thumb brushed my cheek did he grunt his approval.
I could feel the tension in the bow. The strength in the tautness of the string.
I was reminded again of that moment with Erebus, that meeting of power between the horse and myself.
I felt its reflection between me and the bow.
I fixed my aim, concentrating on the center of the now torn and nicked goatskin, letting everything else fade away.
I let the arrow fly.
It could not have been in the air longer than a heartbeat, but I watched it all. I watched the fletching ripple as the air passed through the feathers and the tip of the arrow shiver against the force of that same air. Then, unbreathing, I watched as that tip struck deep into the skin.
The women erupted in cheers, although my attention was still on the arrow. I had aimed for the center, but my aim had been off by at least a hand’s width.
I looked at Hirtus.
“Can I go again?”
“With pleasure. You have not done this before, have you?”
“No, but I understand my mistake. I did not account for the wind. This time, I will hit the center.”
He handed me another arrow, offering no other assistance. I set it and closed my eyes. My hair was tied in a braid that fell down my back, yet I could still feel the flutter of the wind brushing strands eastward across my skin. I would need to aim a little more to the west.
I did not wait so long this time. I locked my aim a little to the left of my previous arrow and let this one fly.
This time, it hit bang in the center.
Never before had I heard my name ring out in cheers. Never before had I felt the rise in warmth and the heat in my heart that came from succeeding where others had not. Althea’s lips were pressed together in the tightest of smiles, but Aina, by contrast, was jumping and shouting.
“Go again! Go again!”
There were several more arrows still in Hirtus’s quiver, but I did not wish to presume.
“May I?”
“I think that it is what the women want. And in this place, the women get what they want.”
He smiled, not broadly, more of a flash in his eyes, but it was all directed at me.
“Wait a minute. I wish to see how good your aim really is.”
Hirtus marked three points on the skin with white chalk before retreating and standing by Phile.
“See if you can hit each of those.”
It was a shame that my confidence had grown so high, for it plummeted swiftly when my first shot failed to hit the mark. He had placed the chalk mark right at the bottom of the skin, and though I hit the other two with ease, that one bested me, even after a second attempt.
“I need another go at that one.” I beckoned Hirtus to bring me another arrow. “I will hit it this time.”
“You need to rest. Let someone else take a turn.”
I have never been one to speak back, but for a moment, I considered it.
One more attempt was all I had asked for.
It would take me mere minutes. But Hirtus’s voice was that of Phile, who at that moment was looking at me so intently I dared not refuse.
I handed the bow to the next woman in line before slinking away.
“You were incredible.” Aina was still bouncing in delight. Apparently, my spectacle had healed her mood.
“That is some skill.” Iphinone rested a hand on her daughter’s shoulder and shifted Aina backward slightly to offer me some space. “If I did not know better, I would have said you were descended from Atalanta herself. Or perhaps Artemis.”
I wished to bask in her compliment, but that single missed target continued to vex me. I was about to say as much when I felt a presence behind me. Phile.
The old woman’s eyes glinted with a similar glow to her lover’s.
“Tell me, Otrera,” she said, a smile twisting the corners of her lips. “How would you like to try your hand at hunting?”