Lion of Macedon (28 page)

THE TEMPLE, ASIA MINOR, 379 B.C.

The priestess stared at the open gate and the lush green fields beyond, focusing on the roses that grew up and over the linteled opening, red and white blooms that filled the air with a heady scent.

This time I will escape, Derae told herself. This time I will concentrate as never before. Steadying herself, she walked slowly forward, her mind holding to a single thought.

Pass the gateway. Walk in the fields
.

Each step was taken with care as her bare feet touched the paved path. Roses were growing on either side of her, beautiful blooms of yellow and pink.

Don’t think of the flowers! The gate! Concentrate on the gateway
.

Another step.

Birds flew above her, and she glanced up to see their flight. They were eagles, flying together, banking and gliding on the thermal currents. Such grace. The priestess returned her gaze to the roses beneath the gate. Mindful of the thorns, she plucked a bloom and held it to her nose; she stared around the garden, seeing the old man who cared for the plants; he pushed himself wearily to his feet and approached her.

“That one is almost dead,” he told her. “Take a bloom that is still to open. Then, if you put it in water, it will fill your room with perfume.”

“Thank you, Naza,” she said as he cut two blooms and
placed them in her hand. She walked back up the path to the temple, pausing in the doorway.

Then, as she remembered, Derae closed her eyes and a single tear forced its way through closed lids, spilling to her cheek. There was no escape through the gateway … just as there was no escape from the window of her room. She could lean out and enjoy the sunshine or see the distant mountains, but as soon as she attempted to climb from the room, she would find herself sitting on her bed, her thoughts confused.

It had been this way for three years, three lonely, soul-aching years.

She recalled the first day when she had opened her eyes and seen the old woman sitting by her bed. “How do you feel, child?” the woman asked.

“I am well,” she had answered. “Who are you?”

“I am Tamis. I am here to teach you.”

Derae had sat up, remembering the ship and her hands being bound behind her, men picking her up and throwing her over the side … the sudden shock of the cold water, the terrible struggle to be free of her bonds as she sank beneath the waves. But then there was nothing save a strange memory of floating high in the night sky toward a bright light.

“What will you teach me?”

“The mysteries,” answered the woman, touching her brow. And she had slept again.

She had discovered the spell of the gateway on her third day as she walked in the garden alone. Approaching it to look at the runes carved in the old stone, she had found herself back in the white-columned temple.

Twice more she tried, then Tamis had seen her. “You cannot leave, my dear. You are the priestess now; you are the heir to Cassandra.”

“I don’t understand—not any of this,” said Derae.

“You were the victim. The legend says that any girl who successfully survives the sacrifice and reaches the temple becomes the priestess until the next victim is similarly successful. You knew that.”

“Yes, but … they bound my hands. I do not remember coming here.”

“But you
are
here,” Tamis pointed out. “And therefore I will instruct you.”

Day by day the old woman had tried to teach Derae the mysteries, but the girl seemed incapable of understanding. She could not free the chains of her soul and soar her spirit into the sky, nor could she close her eyes and enter the healing trance. Simple tasks like holding a dead rose and willing it to become once more a fresh, budding bloom were beyond her.

At the end of the first year Tamis took her to a small study at the rear of the temple. “I have thought much about your lack of talent,” said the old woman, “and I have researched the origins of the legend. You surrendered a gift a long time ago: you allowed a man to violate you. This has caused your powers to be buried deep. In order to bring them forth, you must now be prepared to give another gift.”

“I do not want to be a priestess,” protested Derae. “I do not have these gifts. Just let me go!”

But Tamis continued as if she had not heard her, her words striking Derae like sharp knives. “I watched you heal Hermias when his skull was crushed! That is when I knew you were the one to follow me. You can do it, Derae—but only by surrendering another gift. You know what is needed; why do you persevere with this defiance?”

“I will not do it!” stormed the girl. “Never! You will not take my eyes!”

Tamis had shrugged and had patiently continued with the lessons. By the third year Derae showed small signs of success. She could stand in the garden and will sparrows to fly to her hand, and once she healed Naza of a cut to his arm, placing her fingers over the wound and sealing it so that there was no scar.

At night she still dreamed of escape, of running into the hills, hiding in the distant woods, and somehow finding her way back to Sparta—and Parmenion.

But it would not be today, she realized, staring at the open
gateway and the fields beyond. Slowly she walked between the temple pillars to the open altar, where she laid the roses Naza had given her.

“When will you learn, child?” asked Tamis.

The girl looked around. “I did not know you had returned.”

The old woman approached the priestess, laying her hand on the girl’s shoulder. “It must be as it is. Try to accept it: you are chosen.”

“I don’t want it!” cried the girl, brushing Tamis’ hand from her shoulder. “I
never
wanted it.”

“You think that I did? Wanting it is not part of the gift. You have it or you do not.”

“Well, I do not. I speak no prophecies; there are no visions.”

Tamis took the girl by the arm and led her back into the garden to sit beside a white-walled pool. “There are men and women who will die today,” said the old woman softly. “They do not wish to. All of them will have works that are left undone, or children, or husbands or wives. They have no choice—as you have no choice. The days of the Dark God are close, my dear, and I will be dead. Someone must follow me. Someone of courage and spirit. Someone who cares. It was always to be you.”

“Are you deaf, Tamis? I have few gifts!”

“They are there, but they have been pushed deep. You will find them when you give your own gift to the Lord of All Things, when you give up your sight.”

“No!” said the girl. “You cannot force me! I will not do it!”

“No one is going to force you. That would destroy all I have worked for. It must be your own decision.”

“And if I do not?”

“I don’t know, child. I wish that I did.”

“But you can see the future. You are a sorceress.”

Tamis smiled. Leaning forward, she cupped her hand in the water of the pool and drank. “Life is not so simple. There are many futures. The life of a single person is like a great tree: every branch, every twig, every leaf is a possible future. Years ago I looked at my own deaths—it took almost a year
to track them all down, and at the end I realized there were, still thousands to be seen. Now the end is close, and I know the day. But yes, I have seen you take up the challenge and refuse it, and I have seen you both win and lose. But which is it to be?”

“Will I be able to speak to the gods?” questioned the priestess.

Tamis was silent for a moment, then she sighed. “I am patient, Derae, but time is becoming precious. I have waited three years for you to realize there is no going back. But now is the time for a different course. I may be wrong, but I will tell you the truth—all of it, though it will be painful. Firstly, there are no gods as you think of them. The names we know—Zeus, Apollo, Aphrodite—all were once men and women like you and I. But that is not to say there are no gods at all. For beyond the myths there are real forces of light and darkness, of love and chaos.”

“And which do you serve?” the priestess asked.

Tamis chuckled. “Do not seek to annoy me, girl. If I served the chaos spirit, I would have taken your gift by force!”

“But that is how you hold me here. I am not free to leave.”

“As I said, nothing is simple. But I hold you not out of hate but out of love. You see, my dear, you cannot leave this place—ever. And that is not my doing.”

“Then who is my jailer? Who holds me here?” asked the priestess.

“Your death,” Tamis answered.

“What does that mean?” she asked, suddenly fearful.

“I am sorry, Derae, but you died when they threw you overboard. I found your body by the rocks, I carried you here and brought you back. That is why you cannot leave.”

“You are lying! Tell me you are lying!”

Tamis took the girl’s hand. “If you left this temple, your body would decay in seconds, your flesh peeling away, corrupt and worm-filled, and your bleached bones would lie on the grass not ten paces from the gateway.”

“I do not believe you. It is a trick to keep me here!”

“Think back to the day, your hands bound, your lungs filling with salt water, your struggles weakening as you sank.”

“Stop it!” shouted Derae, covering her face with her hands. “Please stop it.”

“I will not apologize, for it cost years of my life and all my power to bring you back. Naza helped carry you here. Speak to him if you disbelieve me.”

“Sweet Hera, why did you tell me this? I have lived here for three years, waiting for Parmenion to come for me, praying, hoping. And now you dash all my hopes.”

“Then you believe me?”

“I wish that I did not,” answered Derae, “and now I will never see Parmenion again. Why did you not let me die?”

“You will see him,” insisted Tamis. “He is the reason I saved you. Once you have learned the mysteries, your soul will be free to fly anywhere in the world—into the past or the many futures. But it will take time for you to learn all the mysteries … perhaps years.”

“What do years matter to the dead?”

“In this temple you are not dead. You will age, as do all of us, and finally your body will give out and your soul will fly free. When it does, I will be waiting for you. I will show you paradise.”

Derae stood and leaned over the pool, gazing down at her reflection, seeing the red-gold of her hair and the flush of health on her cheeks. Swiftly she looked away. “Why was I chosen?”

“Because you love Parmenion.”

“I don’t understand.”

“The Dark God is coming, Derae. Not today, not this year, but soon. He will be born in the flesh, and he will grow into a man. All the world will fall to him, and chaos will reign. There will be rivers of blood, a mountain of dead. He must be stopped.”

“And Parmenion can destroy him?”

“That is the question that torments me, Derae. It is why I need you. When first I saw the shadow of the Dark God, I prayed to the source for a way to defeat him. I saw Parmenion
then and heard his name echo across the vaults of heaven. I thought he would be the sword to strike the chaos spirit. But since then I have realized that he is also linked to the Dark God, and I have followed the paths of his futures. He is the Death of Nations, and he will change the world.”

“I cannot believe that of Parmenion,” protested Derae. “He is gentle and kind.”

“In some ways, yes. But since your … you left him … he has become filled with bitterness and hate. And that serves the chaos spirit. If I were more sure, I would see him dead. But I am not sure.” Tamis drank again from the pool, then rubbed her weary eyes. “You see a rabid dog about to kill a baby, what do you do?”

“You kill the dog,” answered Derae.

“But if you know the future and you know that the babe will grow into an evil destroyer who will bring the world to blood and fire?”

“You let it kill the baby?”

“Indeed, but what if the destroyer is due to sire another babe who will rebuild the world and bring peace and joy for a thousand years?”

“You have lost me, Tamis. I don’t know. How can anyone answer such a question?”

“How indeed?” whispered the old woman. “I cling to my first prayer, when the source showed me Parmenion. He is a man torn, pulled toward darkness, yearning for the light. When the Dark God comes, he will either serve him or help destroy him.”

“Can you destroy a god?” Derae asked.

“Not the spirit. But he will come in the flesh, in the guise of a man. And
that
is where his weakness will lie.”

Derae took a deep breath. “I want to help you, Tamis, I really do. But is there a way I can develop my … powers … without giving the gift you require?”

“We do not have the time,” answered Tamis sadly. “It would take perhaps thirty years.”

“Will there be pain?”

“Yes,” admitted Tamis, “but it will be short-lived, that I promise you.”

“Show me Parmenion,” said Derae. “Then I will give you my answer.”

“That might not be wise.”

“It is my price.”

“Very well, child. Take my hand and close your eyes.”

The world lurched, and Derae felt she was falling into a great void. She opened her eyes … and screamed. All around her were stars, huge and bright, while far below her the moon floated in a sea of darkness. “Do not fear, Derae. I am with you,” came the voice of Tamis, and Derae calmed herself. Colors blazed around her, and she found herself floating above the night-shrouded city of Thebes, gazing down at the colossal statues of Heracles and Athena. Closer they flew until they came to a house with a small courtyard.