Chapter Sixty-Nine
Damaris waited expectantly. Behind her, I could see the women waiting to hear my response, although I struggled to understand.
“You wish us to move? To Oreia?”
“Not to Oreia. North of there, along the sea. A woman from Oreia told me of it. She had traveled there once when she was young.”
“Why would we wish to move?” I said. “What benefit would we gain?”
“Look at Ninniya.” Damaris gestured to the village.
“We have women living in camps. Patched roofs, doors that need replacing. If we are doing so much work, then why not do it somewhere not tainted with thousands of unbearable memories? We could build whatever we desired. Bathtubs in chambers. Halls like those seen in palaces. Spaces grand enough for feasts. A true temple to Artemis. There is no limit to what we could achieve.”
I understood her reasoning. It was impossible to pass my old house without old memories appearing in my mind.
I could not stand in the tannery without thinking of Eleni’s incessant chatter or Phile’s endless generosity.
Now Aina would be added to the list of wraiths that haunted me, and I was not alone with my ghosts.
But it was Damaris’s comment about the temple that I pondered most deeply.
We had been relying on the goddess’s patronage from the prayers and offerings that we delivered from our small altar.
With a temple dedicated to her, our protection would be far more secure.
“Say I agree. Say I believe we should find somewhere different. Why go to this place instead of Oreia? To somewhere that has the foundations for our homes?”
Damaris’s smile returned. Small and twisted, it glimmered in her eyes, almost bright enough to hide the pain of what she had endured.
“We will go there because of the horses,” she said.
* * *
Damaris wished to leave immediately, but I needed to talk to the others. I needed to see what they had brought back, to think everything through. It was four days before we headed out. I left Althea in charge, and Thalassa and Sotiria rode with us, as did Iphinone.
She had not spoken a word to me since the women had returned, yet I felt obliged to ask her to join us.
If Aina had been alive, she would have been riding by my side to this place where, according to Damaris, the horses packed the earth as densely as sparrows on a fallen scrap of bread.
That was why I extended the invitation to Iphinone, though I did not expect her to come.
“I will gather my things now,” she responded before turning away from me to do just that.
Iphinone remained silent throughout the day, and though I knew excitement bubbled through Damaris, her mood was dampened by Iphinone’s presence, as was Thalassa’s.
So it was left to Sotiria and me to keep the mood as light as we could.
We took heavy leathers, which provided seats on the horses while we rode, and we strung them up over branches for a wind break and laid them on the ground to offer us some comfort.
We stopped at streams to fill our water and ate rabbits we caught and roasted on spits.
“Do you think this is what life is like for them? For Hirtus and the boys?” I asked as we sat around the fire on the second night.
I had meant the question in earnest but had not thought through its consequences.
Aina’s body was still warm in the ground, and now I was drawing attention to Ereas, Iphinone’s son, whom she had not seen for over two years and, for all we knew, may never see again.
My throat tightened as Iphinone opened her mouth.
“I hope so,” she said. “This is a good life. A simple life. To sleep under the stories of the stars. To follow the seasons and the streams. I hope all could live as peacefully as this.”
There was nothing more any of us could say. Peace was what we all hoped for, but for such a simple concept, it seemed almost impossible to achieve. We finished our food in silence before retiring for the night.
I do not know what woke me. Perhaps it was an animal or a vision.
Perhaps it was an act of the gods, wishing me to see this moment.
But it was only I who woke, while Thalassa, Damaris, and Sotiria continued to dream under the stream of stars.
Iphinone, however, was standing by the horses, her silhouette illuminated by the bright, milky moon.
“Are you unable to sleep?” I asked, rubbing my eyes and sitting up. “I do not mind staying awake and watching, though the horses will make plenty of noise if there is danger.”
“It is fine,” Iphinone replied. “Go back to sleep, Otrera.”
It was then I noticed the satchel in her hand. And another two tied to the horse.
“You are going somewhere?” I asked, standing. “Are you returning home to Ninniya?”
My questions lingered in the air, and in the silence, an ocean of unspoken sorrows filled my heart. I knew what she was about to say.
“I am leaving, but not to Ninniya.”
“Then where?” I asked.
“I do not know.”
A dull pain seared my chest, filling my lungs. Stepping forward, I took her hands, making no attempt to hide my desperation.
“Iphinone, I know your pain is incomparable to anything I have ever felt. You must feel like there’s no place for you in this land without Aina, but I promise there is. You will find a reason to live again. Think of Ereas. Think of the pain he would suffer from your loss.”
Iphinone’s lips parted as she stared at me unblinkingly. “I am not going to the underworld yet, Otrera.”
My cheeks colored, only for my embarrassment to switch to confusion. “Then where? Are you going in search of Ereas and Hirtus?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps I will wander that way in time.” Iphinone spoke as though she had not considered anything further ahead than this conversation.
“I cannot say. All I know is that last night, under the stars, I felt a flicker of peace. Of connection to Aina. She always said that she was not meant to sleep under a roof. That she and Myrina would travel the land together, learning the ways of the gods. Last night was the first time I truly understood.”
“So you will be nomadic?” I said.
“For a while at least. Perhaps I will return to you in the future if you will allow me?”
“Always.”
I stared at her, this woman who had been a stranger. She was a warrior, a mother, a widow, and a leader. She was my dearest friend, and she was leaving.
I saw no need to stifle my tears, for I wished her to see my pain. I wished her to see how deeply I would feel her loss.
It was not the first time I had lost someone who lived.
I lost my family when I married Morsimus, my mother and father and my brothers.
But never had someone chosen to leave my life.
Never had my presence caused them so much pain they could no longer bear it.
So with all the love I could, I wrapped my arms around her and held her close.
“There will always be a place for you, Iphinone. Always, wherever we are.”