Chapter Forty-Two
Killing the stags, we’d discovered, was far easier than carrying them.
Tearing strips of linen from the bottoms of all our robes, we had bound the animals’ legs before hoisting them on thick branches that I had cut. Then we began the walk.
By the time we reached the outskirts of the village, we were soaked in sweat, but when the women came running onto the streets, hands over their mouths in disbelief, the ache in my muscles almost faded.
“Come, come see what they have!”
“The gods have blessed us.”
“Artemis has blessed us. This is the sign we needed.”
I do not know who took the creatures from me, but my hands were suddenly empty, only to be taken hold of by Dolos, who held them to her chest.
“I am sorry I doubted you, Otrera. You have been a gift from the gods to the women of Ninniya.”
Her hands were replaced by those of Chrysothea.
“You are a child of Artemis.”
I did not fully believe their words, but I knew that a small part of my heart, which had been hollowed by Melitta’s death, had been filled with something else.
Sparks flew from the fire, a constant stream of dazzling pinpricks dancing on the hot air. Twisting and turning, they dipped and dived, only to dissolve into the mist of stars above. It was a performance worthy of the gods of Olympus and of the women who had earned this celebration.
The singing and laughter were unlike anything I had heard before.
Raucous and full-bellied, the unparalleled joy barreled through the night as if it were the greatest festival we had ever attended.
And it was. It was a festival of life. Whatever fears or guilt churned through the women had evaporated the moment we returned with those two stags.
That was all they’d needed to see to know we had earned the gods’ approval.
The women brought drums and lyres from their homes. Several children took up the task, beating rhythms to which the women danced while the meats roasted on the fire, the scents traveling to Olympus for the gods’ consumption.
Kallista provided the wine. A great deal of it.
I recall wondering what would happen to the tavern.
Would she continue to run it, with no men to wander through her door?
Did she have the means to live a life without it, and if not, how would I provide for her?
I was the one who would need to maintain this after all. This joy. This freedom.
As the stars claimed the sky, I sat on a broken wall and watched while the songs grew louder, the dances more unsteady.
I sipped only on water. The wine was good enough, but I remembered all too well its effects on Morsimus.
Besides, this celebration could not last forever.
I suspected the women would start coming to me in the morning, asking for guidance on this path I had carved out for them, and I needed my head to be clear.
“Is this what you hoped for?”
In all the noise and commotion, I had not noticed Phile until she appeared beside me. This was the first time I had seen her since she had brought down a man with an arrow.
As her question lingered in the air, I allowed myself to appreciate the moment.
Aina had a smaller child on her shoulders, who was shrieking with glee as they bobbed from side to side.
Even Damaris had ventured deeper into the gabble, a cup of wine in hand.
My heart heavy with unease, I turned to Phile.
“This is one night. What I dream of is a lifetime of freedom like this.”
“And do you believe you will achieve such a thing?”
“I believe the gods have blessed us.” I gestured to the meat roasting on the fire.
“I believe the gods brought me to you and Hirtus. I believe they gifted me with a talent for a bow that I could never have imagined. And they have gifted other women too. We have women who can braid rope, skin animals, harvest, cook. We have Aina, who can talk to the horses. Gods be praised, I believe there is nothing we cannot do.”
Her lips pressed tightly together, Phile’s gaze drifted over the crowd.
“Now, when the sun is warm, we do such things, but what about when winter sets in? When frost covers the ground and the water fountains freeze. It is unlikely that we will dance like this then.”
“We will do as we have always done,” I answered. “We will crack the ice with mallets. Live on the harvest we have taken, the meat we have stored, and dress in the pelts and leathers that we ourselves have provided.”
Phile nodded. I did not know whether her silence was doubt or contemplation, yet I did not have the patience to wait and find out.
“You do not think we can?”
“Oh, I do. Or at least I think you can. You and Damaris could live on the wide empty steppes with nothing but a bow and survive. But whether it will be the same for all the women, I do not know. In six moons, winter will be upon us again, and it will come faster than you could ever dare fear. The snow will be upon us. The boys will return and learn what you have done to their fathers.”
“Six moons?” I replied, refusing to let the fear seep into my spirit. “Then that is how long we have to prepare. We should get to work immediately.”