Dark of the Moon by Tracy Barrett Page A

to She-Who-Is-Goddess?" This voice, too, was now familiar: Perialla, another of the priestesses. She was close to my mother's age and was a quiet, somewhat dull woman who had always been kind to me.
    A snort in reply. "More than once. She dismisses the idea, says she couldn't have been mistaken. She just
knew,
she says, that she saw the god in Kilix that spring."
    "But you don't think so?"
    "You know how she is, how she has always been from girlhood. Can't bear to be wrong. Never could. Velchanos punished her by hiding himself—still is punishing her."
    "Oh, surely not." Perialla sounded almost pleading. "It's been so long, and she was so young when she offended Goddess. And you of all people should hope that Kilix was the correct choice."
    I held my breath. With any luck, they would talk about why Goddess was angry with my mother. But luck was against me, for Damia said only, "Her offense was too grave; it can never be forgiven. He punished her with the boy, with Minos-Who-Will-Be. No question about
his
parentage! The crops have never been so abundant as they were that year. No, he's the son of Velchanos, all right. Remember the feasting the fall after his conception?"
    Perialla must have nodded, for Damia went on, "She-Who-Is never showed the baby, kept him bundled away, and then when she finally had to reveal him on his first birthday, she refused to see what everyone else did, that he was a monster and should have been exposed at birth." Perialla's horrified gasp didn't stop that bitter voice. "That was what the god wanted. It was a test for her, one she failed by keeping him alive, the same as she failed her earlier test."
    "What test?" I longed to ask.
    Damia lowered her voice, and I strained to hear. "I've heard rumors that the Minos is training an apprentice. Of course, he'd have to keep this secret—if She-Who-Is were to hear of it, she'd say it was sacrilege, since a true son of Karia and Velchanos is alive."
    "Who is this apprentice?"
    Before Damia could answer, the voice of my mother's maid broke in. "Mistresses, She-Who-Is-Goddess is waiting for you in her chamber." Iaera managed to sound respectful while still expressing urgency. Skirts rustled as the two women rose and hurried out, their shoes tapping on the floor. I knew I should follow after them, but instead I lay back on the sofa.
    They doubted me? They thought that I was not the daughter of the god, that my mother had been wrong when she said she saw Velchanos manifest himself in the shepherd Kilix at the Planting Festival before my birth? The crops had been poor in the year of my conception, but so many things could explain that: a misread omen, an irreverent act in the god's cave, even the whim of Velchanos. It didn't have to mean that my mother had chosen wrongly, that the man who was my father had been just that—merely a man, and not Velchanos made flesh. And even if she had made a mistake, no shame falls to She-Who-Is-Goddess; it is up to the god to reveal himself. If he doesn't, She-Who-Is-Goddess must try to guess which man's body is housing Her husband. It's not her fault if he has hidden himself too cunningly.
How like a man,
I'd always thought of the way Velchanos disguised himself.
Capricious, unreliable, wanting to surprise, like a little boy.
    But if she
had
been wrong, then who was I?
    I fought back the panic rising in my throat. I had to tell my mother what I had overheard, and she would make it right. She would punish Damia for her evil words and would assure me that I was the legitimate daughter of Velchanos. Then, even as I rose, I remembered that Damia had claimed she had already spoken to my mother, who had denied the accusation. I sank back and chewed on a fingernail.
    This was just one more new piece of information that confused me about our customs on Krete. The first had come in my conversation with Theseus. Obviously, our ritual at the Planting Festival was not followed in Athens. Perhaps they did not even sacrifice the god