RCG-I Seasonal Salon
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When Destiny Walked the LabrynthChapter 2: Geneera shares a secretMaidentide :final triad “The moon has cycled through full Meter into darkest Hag and round again to the Virgin’s bow six times since last the great Bull roared. I could not stand to write of it before this. I do not even remember many of the days directly after. Meter says I am storm shocked. I told her there was no storm, only the great shake, then, …then, ...no; I cannot write of it even yet. I still cannot believe Uncle Psidoras and his little boys and all the fisherfolk who were my friends are gone. We held a memorial rite on the beach for them cycles ago. Meter wasn’t sure I should go, what with my ankle still barely holding my weight again. I insisted I needed to go; how could I not? Xeronos carried me all the way down those awful steps. I hobbled back up with just a little help though. They never found most of the bodies. I wonder if it is possible Uncle and the boys escaped somehow. Perhaps they rowed really hard and fast and made it to Dia or even Heria. Meter pats my cheek and tells me with sad eyes my hope is unlikely. . I know that, but maybe it is so anyway. She and GranMeter cry when they think I’m not paying attention. I dream of Uncle and little Seus. He was only 3 turns old, still sometimes nursing at his Meter’s breast. They wave to me from the shore of Dia, and I am so glad to discover they are all still alive. But I always awaken. Snakes haunt my dreams, too, green ones with jewel-bright eyes and wiggly tails. I look through gray pebbles under the brush and I know there is a snake there. I smell it or feel it somehow under a thorny bush with tiny leathery leaves. It will not move while I am watching. It waits for me to look away, and when I do, it slithers across my foot, quick as a just-caught scent, fleeting and elusive. I respond with terror, though I have never been afraid of snakes before. I have heard that some snakes in distant lands render illness to one if bit, but that is not true here on Kriti, or at least I have never known anyone to become ill from a bite. But I become ill from their presence in my mind. I visited the beach with just Geneera yesterday. It was the first time I have visited Amnisos, other than the memorial when lots of people were around. The pier is splintered. The homes are all shattered and ruined. I cried and cried. Geneera held me as I sputtered and sobbed until her shoulder was full of snot. She laughed and told me we were snot sisters. She dubbed me Priesera of snot, and she, my loyal cloth. I love her. She is my only, truest, best friend. I finally told Meter about She-Who-Casts-the-Net. I feared telling her; I thought she might think the sea took my mind or tell me the shock made me imagine things, but she didn’t. She said the trauma gave me “sight”. She even asked me to repeat the message to the Priesera when they come for Festival. I asked her if she ever “saw” the Caster of Nets. She said no, but she sees some of the others. She said she’d tell me about it sometime, when I’m fully recovered. But I fear I will never fully recover.” Ansel paused, absently chewing the end of her reed pen. She reached down to scratch her ankle. The shade of a large yellow-green bruise still traveled up the outside of her calf. She picked up her pen again. but then heard footfalls. “Ansel are you in here? Oh, there you are.” Ansel glanced over her shoulder; Geneera leaned against the cypress wood door frame of their adjoining rooms. The curly black ringlets of hair that normally framed the girl’s angular face were plastered against her damp olive skin. “Writing again?” Geneera wiped her face with the back of her hand and shook her hair which was knotted carelessly atop her head. Ansel shrugged, then, turning back to the scroll, carefully blew on the drying ink and placed her pen into its clay ink pot. “It helps,” she said quietly. Swinging her legs fully round to her friend, she forced a smile, taking in Geneera’s sweaty appearance “Training again?” “But of course.” Geneera stepped lightly into the room, graceful as a young gazelle. A single bead of sweat slid from forehead to cheek, leaving a shimmering track as evidence of its passing. “The gymnasia was nearly empty. Everyone is preparing for Festival, I suppose.” She glanced at Ansel’s scroll, then grinned and shook her head slightly. “Ai. Better you than me. Writing makes my head pound.” Warmth radiated from Geneera’s body and Ansel thought her friend smelled faintly of the sea. Geneera snapped the sweat-soaked waistband of her brief white skirt. Bending over slightly, the lithe girl casually began to knead her long, upper thigh with tapered fingers. “How was your match this morning?” “I beat Caeria in wrestling.” “The Bulldancer? Good for you. I wager she was roiled.” Geneera glanced up, grinning cockily. “Not at all, actually. She doesn’t respect anyone who can’t give her a tumble. She wants to be friendly now.” “No!” Ansel’s eyes widened. She smiled. “Yes. She even invited me to meet some of the other dancers.” “Well, by the Goddess’s teats, she’s showing the other blade of the labrys.” Ansel laughed clapping her hands together. Though her eyes sparkled, Geneera bit her lips and her focus slid down to her own feet. Ansel peered at her friend more closely, then said, “There is more?” Geneera merely shrugged; Ansel continued to probe. “Oh, give forth, Gen. You cannot keep a secret from your best friend. We have known each other too long.” Geneera remained silent, staring at her sandal, then abruptly threw herself onto a cushioned bench across from Ansel and began tapping her foot furiously. “First, promise you won’t tell my Meter. Or yours either.” “I promise, I promise. Tell, for Rhea’s sake.” Ansel’s voice rose. Geneera took a deep breath, then said falteringly, “It is possible, uh, I might possibly be asked to join the Bulldancer troupe.” She stopped tapping her feet and silence fell. Ansel’s smile froze upon her lips. The air between them suddenly turned thick. Geneera lifted her eyes and met Ansel’s gaze. The tall girl’s mouth was turned downward, drawn tight into a straight line. Ansel could see the muscles of her friend’s square jaw flex as she clenched her teeth. “Ah. Wahall, that would really be an honor,” Ansel said carefully. “You might possibly be asked? When will you know?” Still holding Ansel’s gaze, Geneera replied, “The truth is . . . I already know. I was already asked.” “And I assume you said Yes.” It was not a question. “I have not yet answered, but I want to join, yes.” Ansel’s heart thudded, but she said in a steady voice, “Congratulations, then.” She did not allow herself to break gaze with her friend. Geneera’s eyes grew wary. “You mean that?” Her feet resumed tapping. “Of course. You are my friend. I know you have always dreamed of this. Just like Jerid, no? When will you move to the athlete’s wing?” Ansel forced her voice to sound cheerful. Geneera’s shoulders visibly relaxed. She closed her eyes and blew out a puff of air. When she looked at Ansel, her eyes again held a twinkle. She lunged from the chair and gave Ansel an enthusiastic and sweaty hug. “I don’t know yet. Soon, but not right away. Certainly not before Festival’s end.” Ansel grabbed Geneera’s hand and would not let go. “It will be lonely sleeping in these rooms without you. And to be alone in classes with your Meter.” “It is hard to be in class with Meter whether or not I am there.” Geneera pulled her hand away gently, then bent to kiss Ansel lightly on the cheek. Ansel snorted overloud. “Well, true enough.” Rising to her feet, Ansel turned her back to Geneera briefly both to roll up the scroll she’d been writing on and to hide the tears that had sprung into her eyes unbidden. When she turned toward Geneera again, she gave her friend a crooked half grin and said, “Your Meter will fly with the Furies themselves when she finds out.” “Don’t I know, don’t I know,” Geneera said. But her dark eyes danced with an inner light. Copyright by the Kassandra Sojourner ~ All rights reserved |
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