tribe rose up and cast the contents of a small basket on the fire. The dried leaves blazed up, then smoldered, flinging out thick white clouds of aromatic smoke. It filled the tent with its curious, dry, sweetish perfume, and as she breathed it in, Kassandra felt her head swimming, and strange colors moved before her eyes, so that she no longer felt the dull pain of her hunger.
Penthesilea said from the darkness, “My sisters, I know your hunger; do I not share it? Anyone who is unwilling to remain with us, I freely give you leave to go to the men’s villages, where they will share their food if you lie with them. But do not bring daughters so born back to our tribe, but leave them to be slaves, as you have shown yourselves to be. If there are any who wish to leave now, let them do so, for you are not fit to stay while we petition our Maiden Huntress, who cherishes freedom for women.”
Silence; within the smoke-filled tent no woman stirred.
“Then, sisters, in our need let us summon Her who cares for us.”
Again silence, except for the fingertip drumming. Then out of the silence came a long eerie howl.
“Oww—ooooo-ooooo-ooooow!”
For a moment Kassandra thought it was some animal lurking outside the tent. Then she saw the open mouths, the strained-back heads of the women. The howl came again, and again; the faces of the women no longer looked quite human. The howling screams went on, rising and falling as the women swayed and yelled, and were joined by a sharp short “Yip-yip-yip-yip-yip . . . yip-yip-yip,” until the noise filled the tent; it beat and battered at her consciousness, and she could only harden herself to remain apart from it. She had seen her mother overshadowed by the Goddess, but never in the midst of mad commotion like this.
At that moment, for the first time in many moons, Hecuba’s face was suddenly before Kassandra’s eyes and it seemed she could hear Hecuba’s gentle voice:
It is not the custom . . .
Why not?
There is no reason for customs. They are, no more . . .
She had not believed it then and she did not believe it now. There must be a reason why this weird howling should be thought a suitable way to summon the Maiden Huntress. Are we to become as the wild beasts She is hunting?
Penthesilea rose, stretching out her hands to the women; between one breath and the next, Kassandra saw the Queen’s face blur, and the brightness of the Goddess shone through the very skin, the voice altered beyond recognition. She cried out, “Not to the south, where the men’s tribes wander! Ride to the east, past the two rivers; there remain until the spring’s stars fall!”
Then she crumpled forward; two women of the tribe’s elders caught her and supported her in a fit of coughing so violent that it ended in weak retching. When she raised herself, her face was her own again.
She asked in a hoarse whisper, “Did she answer us?”
A dozen voices repeated the words she had spoken while she was overshadowed:
“Not to the south, where the men’s tribes wander! Ride to the east, past the two rivers; there remain until the spring’s stars fall!”
“Then we ride at dawn, sisters,” Penthesilea said, her voice still weak. “There is no time to lose. I know of no rivers to the east, but if we turn our backs on Father Scamander and follow the east wind, we will surely come to them.”
“What meant the Goddess when She spoke of ‘until the spring’s stars fall’?” asked one of the women.
Penthesilea shrugged her narrow shoulders. “I do not know, sisters; the Goddess spoke but did not explain Her words. If we follow Her will, She will make it known to us.”
Four of the women brought in baskets filled with coiled roots and passed around leathern bottles of wine. Penthesilea said, “Let us feast in Her name, sisters, and ride at dawn filled with Her bounty.”
Kassandra realized how long food must have been hoarded for this midwinter feast. She tore into the tasteless boiled
Penthesilea said from the darkness, “My sisters, I know your hunger; do I not share it? Anyone who is unwilling to remain with us, I freely give you leave to go to the men’s villages, where they will share their food if you lie with them. But do not bring daughters so born back to our tribe, but leave them to be slaves, as you have shown yourselves to be. If there are any who wish to leave now, let them do so, for you are not fit to stay while we petition our Maiden Huntress, who cherishes freedom for women.”
Silence; within the smoke-filled tent no woman stirred.
“Then, sisters, in our need let us summon Her who cares for us.”
Again silence, except for the fingertip drumming. Then out of the silence came a long eerie howl.
“Oww—ooooo-ooooo-ooooow!”
For a moment Kassandra thought it was some animal lurking outside the tent. Then she saw the open mouths, the strained-back heads of the women. The howl came again, and again; the faces of the women no longer looked quite human. The howling screams went on, rising and falling as the women swayed and yelled, and were joined by a sharp short “Yip-yip-yip-yip-yip . . . yip-yip-yip,” until the noise filled the tent; it beat and battered at her consciousness, and she could only harden herself to remain apart from it. She had seen her mother overshadowed by the Goddess, but never in the midst of mad commotion like this.
At that moment, for the first time in many moons, Hecuba’s face was suddenly before Kassandra’s eyes and it seemed she could hear Hecuba’s gentle voice:
It is not the custom . . .
Why not?
There is no reason for customs. They are, no more . . .
She had not believed it then and she did not believe it now. There must be a reason why this weird howling should be thought a suitable way to summon the Maiden Huntress. Are we to become as the wild beasts She is hunting?
Penthesilea rose, stretching out her hands to the women; between one breath and the next, Kassandra saw the Queen’s face blur, and the brightness of the Goddess shone through the very skin, the voice altered beyond recognition. She cried out, “Not to the south, where the men’s tribes wander! Ride to the east, past the two rivers; there remain until the spring’s stars fall!”
Then she crumpled forward; two women of the tribe’s elders caught her and supported her in a fit of coughing so violent that it ended in weak retching. When she raised herself, her face was her own again.
She asked in a hoarse whisper, “Did she answer us?”
A dozen voices repeated the words she had spoken while she was overshadowed:
“Not to the south, where the men’s tribes wander! Ride to the east, past the two rivers; there remain until the spring’s stars fall!”
“Then we ride at dawn, sisters,” Penthesilea said, her voice still weak. “There is no time to lose. I know of no rivers to the east, but if we turn our backs on Father Scamander and follow the east wind, we will surely come to them.”
“What meant the Goddess when She spoke of ‘until the spring’s stars fall’?” asked one of the women.
Penthesilea shrugged her narrow shoulders. “I do not know, sisters; the Goddess spoke but did not explain Her words. If we follow Her will, She will make it known to us.”
Four of the women brought in baskets filled with coiled roots and passed around leathern bottles of wine. Penthesilea said, “Let us feast in Her name, sisters, and ride at dawn filled with Her bounty.”
Kassandra realized how long food must have been hoarded for this midwinter feast. She tore into the tasteless boiled
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