Chapter Thirty-Four
I could not take the bow home for fear Morsimus would burn it, nor the quiver and arrows that Hirtus had generously made to go with it. I could think of little else, however, through that whole day.
That night, I struggled to even close my eyes for the anticipation that filled me. The next morning, my life was to change. I could feel it. This bow and I were to become something special together.
I was at the tannery before dawn and expected to have to wait some time before Hirtus rose, but he appeared in the archway from his house shortly after I arrived, wearing only a small cloth around his waist.
“I knew you would rise at such an hour,” he said.
I should have apologized; only the grin of excitement I wore prevented me from doing so.
“Come, Otrera. Let us see if this bow is all we hoped it would be.”
Though I would never dare compare a mortal’s workmanship to that of the gods, that morning, it felt as if I were holding a weapon created by Hephaestus himself.
It was weighted perfectly, light to hold yet sturdy enough not to be affected by the wind.
It was a work of art. And it was mine. Even when I heard the chatter of the others arriving for work, I blocked it out.
I found love and did not want to let it go.
“I fear Phile will not be happy with me if you spend all day practicing instead of working,” Hirtus said.
“Just one more.” I nocked an arrow again. “Then I will stop.”
Rather than agreeing, Hirtus placed his hand on the center of my bow and pushed gently downward.
“There is no rush, Otrera. This is your weapon. You can use it whenever you wish.”
I took his advice and handed the instrument back to him, already anticipating when I would fire it again.
Every day, I rose well before dawn and headed to the forest, sprinting as fast as my legs would carry me.
Once there, I would fire my six arrows into targets of my choosing and race to collect them before running back and restringing them, again and again.
The exercise could have been mundane, tedious even, but not once did I feel that. Instead, it was exhilarating.
It took mere days, not weeks, to see my skill increase, and I wished to share the feeling.
“Damaris, you must try it,” I insisted one day at the tannery. I had owned the bow for over a moon, and so far, I had been the only one to fire it. “I believe you will be able to hit the target every time with this. You will see.”
“Otrera, I am not as skilled as you.”
“With this weapon, you will be. Please, we do not need to go to the forest. We can try here when we have finished for the day.”
Sensing that I would not relent, Damaris agreed. Her first shot—and the five that followed—all hit the skin.
“My arms are not even tired,” she said, almost confused. “You say Hirtus made it?”
“I believe he can teach us to make them for ourselves too if we wish.”
Her eyes glinted as she nodded. “This changes things, Otrera. I do not know how, but I know this. You here, in the village, have changed our paths.”
I could feel it too. It was almost as though the gods were watching us now. As though we were becoming more than we were.
The first time my arrow hit an animal, I was out on my own. It was before daybreak, and my intention had been to practice at the tannery, but I was drawn to the forest instead. Now, of course, I am certain it was the great goddess who had called me there.
Dozens of rabbits were gathered in the open fields, feasting on the dew-soaked grass.
As silently as I could, I slipped my bow from my back and nocked an arrow.
My own tension filtered down into the bowstring as I pulled it tight, while the slight tremble in my hand was steadied only by the constancy of my breath. There, with my sight fixed, I released.
The high-pitched squeal was over as soon as it started, and I was already reaching for another arrow, which I fired. Two rabbits, killed by my bow and my bow alone, with barely a pause for breath between.
I made an altar to Artemis that morning on a large, flat stone by the edge of the forest, one that I would pray at time and time again during my years in Ninniya.
As the leaves and dried twigs caught light around the body of one of the rabbits, I said my prayer.
I was not Atalanta, not one of Phile’s heroes, but I was Otrera at last.
* * *
Perhaps I should have continued hunting that morning, but my spirits were too high. I waited outside the courtyard, holding the remaining rabbit by its legs, my arrows in my quiver, my bow on my back.
“You did it! You did it!” Eleni was the first to wrap her arms around me.
“Are you sure it did not come from a snare?” Althea joked, while Aina promptly fought her way to the front to stand by my side.
“I do not know why you are surprised. This is Otrera. She can achieve anything. We should all know that by now.” Aina grinned broadly.
“I do not think it fitting to gloat,” Glykeria said, interrupting the festivities. “You must make an offering to the goddess Artemis.” Her tone was authoritative, although I doubted she had ever killed more than a dormouse herself. “You must give this first kill to her.”
I smiled graciously. “The first rabbit I killed is already burned on an altar,” I said.
More gasps followed.
“The first?” Thalassa said. “Soon, you will not need to work here at all. You will sell all your own pelts and kill all your own food.”
“If that is the case, then I will need to find a new woman to carry all those skins.”
I turned to face Phile. Despite her dry words, her eyes shone with pride. This was what she had imagined all along. Women with no need for her generosity.
“Now, go hang that rabbit in the courtyard. There is work to be done. All of you, I do not pay you to spend all day gossiping.”
Still chattering excitedly, the other women retreated into the tannery ready to start work, yet I waited. There was more I needed to say.
“It is for you.” I held the limp animal out in my arms, offering it to Phile. This was the woman who had given us so much, and now, however slowly, I would give back to her.
I carried more skins that morning than any other day, with the elation of my first kill bringing me strength I could not have imagined. It was an elation I truly believed could have lasted a lifetime.
Yet within days, it was gone, and in its place was a grief the likes of which I had never known.
* * *
The next morning, I went out early again. My first kill had been an offering to Artemis and the second a gift to Phile. I had not yet tasted the fruits of my labor, and I did not believe the gods would forbid me food for my own home. So I decided I would hunt again, this time for food.
By the time I had shot three rabbits, the sun was well above the horizon.
Light fractured through the clouds in wide beams that illuminated only parts of the land, hinting at the clear skies that would come.
I would need to offer Phile another of the animals as an apology or work without a break to make up for the time I had missed.
Yet as I approached the tannery, silence shadowed the place.
I heard no laughter or singing from the women in the pits, no squeals of children as they chased one another in and out of the shade.
I quickened my pace, trying to convince myself that the drumming in my chest was nothing more than fear of rebuke.
As I stepped through the gates, I knew I was wrong.
The children were gathered together under the canopy, heads bowed as they ate. They were quiet, subdued. Unlike the women.
Some were on their knees, clawing their fingers into the earth. Iphinone held Aina to her chest, and the child sobbed weakly while Althea and Phile held a deep discussion. When I cleared my throat, every person faced me. Each pair of eyes was red, each face blotched with tearstains.
My heart racing, I searched the faces. Dolos and Glykeria were talking with Thalia and Thalassa. Trapezitai, who mostly spun the yarn, was there with the women who washed the wool. I scanned every one. Dozens of women, both friends and people I still scarcely knew. There was only one face missing.
“No.” My knees buckled. “No, it cannot be.”
I looked to Althea and Iphinone, wishing one of them would correct me, would tell me I was wrong. And yet it was Damaris who stepped forward. Damaris who looked me in the eye and told me what I already knew to be true.
“It is Eleni. Lycurgus has killed her. She is dead.”