The Eye of the Falcon (21 page)

T
he wild bull thundered into the Great Court, then pawed the stones and swung its head, debating which human to attack first.

Hylas and Kreon stood frozen with shock. Then at the same moment they lunged for the spear on the ground. Hylas got it, but this caught the bull's attention and it charged.

Gripping the spear, Hylas ran. He saw Kreon step smartly out of the way. He heard the bull panting, and caught a jolting glimpse of one huge horn. It flashed across his mind that he couldn't outrun it and wasn't strong enough to fight it, not even with the spear. Mustering every shred of courage, he turned and ran
toward
it.

For an instant he met its white-rimmed eye, then he jammed the butt of the spear on the stones and vaulted over its back. At least he tried to, but his wobbly leap fell short, and he landed smack on its bony rump and slithered off in a heap.

With an outraged roar, the bull veered around and came at him again. Hylas scrambled to his feet. The bull guessed which way he'd go; its horn just missed his thigh. The spear had gone flying when Hylas fell, and as he raced across the Great Court, he saw Kreon grab it. Caught between an angry bull and a murderous warrior: He wasn't going to last much longer.

An echoing boom split the air—and the startled bull jolted to a halt. Kreon froze with the spear in his fist. It sounded like a ram's horn, only deeper, surging and receding like the Sea; and when the booming ceased, the echoes rang in Hylas' ears. He'd heard that sound before, two summers ago. Pirra had blown the alabaster conch shell to summon the gods.

The bull seemed to have mistaken it for the bellows of a rival bull, and was casting about with angry snorts. Kreon wasn't so easily distracted: He was circling the beast to get at Hylas.

Hylas staggered backward, trying to keep the bull between them. Suddenly the familiar pain stabbed his temple—no no no, not now—but this time instead of seeing ghosts, his senses turned preternaturally sharp. He heard lice sucking the blood inside the bull's ears, and a spider spinning a web in the sacred tree. He caught the hiss of Echo's wings as she soared far out of sight.

He saw Pirra.

She stood high above him on the West Balcony, and with a clutch of terror, he knew that she was utterly changed. She wore the purple open-breasted garb of the High Priestess, and living snakes entwined her naked arms. Gold glinted at her throat and in the black coils of her hair, and she moved in a dreadful shimmering brightness. Her face was alight with a terrible radiance, and as she lifted her arms, her shadow on the wall grew vast, and burned with the fury of a thousand fires. In the deathless voice of an immortal, she cried out to the sky—and although Hylas couldn't understand, he knew that the Shining One was calling back the Sun.

All this took less than a heartbeat, then everything happened at once. Hylas saw the silver knife in her fist and understood what she meant to do. “
No Pirra no!
” he yelled.

The knife faltered.

From high above he heard a sound like tearing silk, and Echo came hurtling out of the sky, swung her talons, and struck the knife from Pirra's hand.

At the same moment, Hylas heard the spear hissing toward him, and threw himself sideways. Again Kreon lunged, but this time the spear faltered and Kreon screamed, a horrible gurgling cry as the bull's horn pierced his back and burst through his breastplate. The great beast tossed him high. Still screaming and spraying blood, Kreon flew over its back in grisly imitation of a bull-leaper, and hit the stones with a crack. The bull swung around and gored him again, stabbing and trampling until all that remained was a bloody horror, and the son of Koronos had been obliterated by the savage guardian of the land he had dared to invade.

Shielding his eyes from the glare, Hylas watched the brightness leave the girl on the balcony. She was Pirra again, blinking and looking about as if she'd just woken up.

He saw the bull swing around with a snort and trot off, leaving the trampled remains in a spreading pool of blood.

Then, from the corner of his eye, Hylas glimpsed shadowy forms emerging from doorways in a seething black cloud of Plague. Silently, the ghosts converged on Kreon's corpse and dipped in their fingers and tasted his blood. Then a wind came whistling across the Great Court and blew away the Plague. Hylas sensed that the ghosts were no longer angry and lost, and with a sigh they too blew away, up to their long rest on the Ridge of the Dead.

Hylas thought of the ghostly children on the coast. Maybe they were no longer lost, and had found their dead parents; and maybe the other ghosts he'd seen on his wanderings were also finding peace in the tombs of their ancestors—for although the Sun hadn't returned and the Great Cloud hung as heavy as ever, the gods had blown away the Plague.

But now as he stood swaying on the stones, he sensed one last ghost moving toward him. She felt different from the others: a tall woman with long hair, who wasn't Keftian, but Akean—and she hadn't died of Plague. There was something incredibly familiar about her, something that pierced his heart with longing.

As she drew closer, Hylas shut his eyes and felt her palm against his cheek, cool and light as a moth's wing. He heard her misty whisper in his ear.
Hylas . . . Your sister lives . . . Find her . . . Forgive me . . . Forgive your father . . . Forgive . . .

With a cry, Hylas reached out to clutch his mother's hand, but his fingers grasped empty air. He ran after her, and she smiled at him over her shoulder; then a breeze came moaning over the stones and she faded to nothing before his eyes.

There was a lump in his chest. It hurt so much that he gasped and sank to his knees, fighting tears.

It took him a while to notice that the bull was trotting toward him. He saw its scarlet horns and the threatening tilt of its head; but he felt no fear, only a vast weariness.

The bull halted ten paces from him and pawed the stones.

“I c-can't fight you anymore,” stammered Hylas.

As he knelt before the great beast, a golden blur darted between them—and there was Havoc, snarling at the bull.

Almost gratefully, the bull decided it had had enough, and swung around and plodded off, down the ramp and into the peaceful gloom of the understory. Then Havoc shook herself and bounded over to Hylas and gave his face a rasping lick.

He couldn't hold it back any longer. Flinging his arms around the lion cub's neck, he burst into painful, wrenching sobs for the mother he had never known, but who he now knew was dead and gone forever, and for the dream that he'd clung to all his life: That someday, he and Issi and their mother would all be together.

Pirra felt the wind in her face and saw the snakes drop from her arms and slither off to explore Kunisu.

She found that she was standing on the West Balcony, high above the Great Court. She felt empty and weak, with a pounding pain in her head. The sky was still ashen; the Sun had not returned. Dimly, Pirra remembered Echo striking the knife from her hand. The Goddess had sent Her creature to avert the sacrifice. But why? All Pirra knew was that Echo was perched on her shoulder, and she was alive, and so was Hylas.

He sat with his back against the sacred tree, with Havoc beside him and the double axe at his feet. His leather kilt was dusty, his bare chest scraped and bloodied. As she watched, the wind blew back his yellow hair, and for a moment he reminded her of the god of the hunt in the Hall of Whispers. Then it passed, and he was a boy again, staring fixedly ahead.

Some time later, Pirra found her way down to the Great Court. The smell of blood hung in the air, and she tried not to look at the horror on the stones.

Havoc watched Echo swoop down to perch in the sacred tree, but Hylas stared unseeingly ahead. As Pirra drew closer, she was startled to see that his cheeks were wet with tears.

Havoc came and rubbed against her thigh. The cub's furry warmth made Pirra feel more and more herself. She had failed to complete the Mystery, but she had tried. Sadly, she wondered if her mother knew.

Hylas became aware of her, and sniffed and wiped his face on the back of his hand. His eyelashes were spiky, his tawny eyes glassy with tears.

Pushing Havoc gently away, Pirra knelt and put her hand on his shoulder and said his name.

S
he
sounded
like Pirra, but she had the eerily perfect face of the Goddess. Hylas was too dazed to take in what she was saying.

Now she was gripping his hand in hers and leading him along passages, with Havoc running behind.

“The Plague's gone,” he mumbled. “The gods blew it away.”

“But I couldn't complete the Mystery,” she said. “I couldn't bring back the Sun.”

After many twists and turns, they reached a shadowy space where she halted, staring at a smear of blood on the floor. “He's gone. Telamon's gone.”

“
Telamon?
” cried Hylas.

“He fell. I thought he was dead, but he's gone.”

With a jolt, Hylas' wits returned. “He could be anywhere, and I've left my weapons in the Great Court, we've got to get out of here!”

“That's what I've been
saying
!” said Pirra.

Back in her room, Hylas ignored the chaos of trampled food and well-chewed sheepskins and started gathering their gear, while Pirra hurriedly flung on her own clothes and washed her face, completing the change from goddess to girl.

“You knew Telamon once,” she said, cramming her things in a calfskin bag. “What will he do now?”

“He won't leave Kreon's body behind, his clan worships their ancestors. When he's dealt with that, he'll come after us, no matter how badly he's hurt.”

She paused. “He thinks I have the dagger.”

The dagger. Hylas had forgotten it, but now his thoughts flew to Userref. Keftiu was vast. How would they ever find him?

The wind was getting up, moaning over the roofs and howling through passages. Suddenly, a savage gust blew aside the door-hanging. Pirra's eyes widened. “It sounds angry.”

Hylas slung his cloak about him and shouldered his gear. “Come on. Dusk soon, and there's a storm on the way.”

A gust of wind shook the tent, and the slave bandaging Telamon's head cringed.

“Storm on the way,” said Ilarkos.

Telamon gave him a cold stare. “So let me be clear. We sent you up that mountain with half our men to catch whoever was up there—and you failed.”

“They slipped away in the dark—”

“Why didn't you come and help us in the House of the Goddess?”

“We've only just made it back to camp!”

“Excuses!” Telamon barked at the slave, who refilled his wine cup.

Haggard with fatigue, Ilarkos watched thirstily. “We saw peasants on the move, my lord. They're returning to their villages, the priests say the Plague's gone. Among them I saw that Egyptian who was her slave. His face was dead white, it was horrible, like a ghost—”

“Ghosts!” sneered Telamon. He drained his cup. Maybe wine would ease the pain in his head.

He had a hazy memory of coming to his senses in a dark corner of that dreadful place and staggering around seeking a way out, then finding himself at a window on an upper story overlooking a vast open court. He'd seen Pirra on a balcony, her white arms raised like a goddess; a bull trampling Kreon's corpse; and a
lion
leaping to Hylas' defense.

Telamon ground his teeth. Lions were for
chieftains,
not goatherds; there were lions painted above the gates of his grandfather's citadel at Mycenae. It's all wrong, he thought savagely. Why Hylas and not me?

The wind roared in the pines and shook the tent. His men were huddled around their fires, shocked by their leader's ghastly death. He should go and rally them, but he felt too angry and bitter to try.

“My lord,” said Ilarkos, “what are your orders? Do we return to Mycenae? These Keftians are no fighters, but if they turn on us, we'll be hopelessly outnumbered.”

Telamon went still. For the first time, Ilarkos had asked
him
for orders. His anger vanished. Everything made sense. He had prayed for a chance to prove himself leader, and the gods had heard him.
They had killed Kreon—so that he, Telamon, might lead.
He would find the dagger and restore it to Mycenae. It was his destiny.

And maybe Pirra had told the truth when she said she didn't have the dagger. Maybe she'd sent it away.

Flinging aside his cup, Telamon rose. “We will set sail for Mycenae, but not yet.”

“My lord?”

“At first light, the men will retrieve my uncle's remains and burn them with all honor, as befits a son of Koronos. Then we go after the Egyptian. That was no ghost you saw. He's alive and he has the dagger, or he knows where she hid it. Either way, we don't leave Keftiu without him.”

Userref had shaved off his eyebrows in mourning and whitened his face with lime. Now, as lightning flared and rain hammered down, he kneeled on the windswept hillside and shouted prayers to his gods. “Auset, Protectress of the Dead, watch over she whom I loved as a little sister! Heru, Lord of Light, transform her spirit into a falcon, for her heart is righteous in the great balance!”

But he knew it was hopeless. Why should the gods of Egypt hear him, when Pirra had been a barbarian?

Someone grabbed him by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet. “What are you
doing
?” yelled a voice in Akean. “Don't you know the Crows are after you?”

The stranger was strong, dragging Userref downhill and deep into the woods, where he found an abandoned farmhouse hidden in a thicket, kicked open the door, flung Userref inside, and slammed it shut behind him. “What were you
doing
? D'you
want
them to kill you?”

Userref backed away, clutching his precious bundle. “If they did, I'd deserve it for letting her die!”

The stranger snorted. “Then why'd you paint crows on the soles of your boots? I thought Egyptians did that to curse their enemies!”

Userref was startled. Who was this man, that he knew the ways of Egypt?

The stranger was tall and broad-shouldered, with the long dark hair and uncouth beard of an Akean. He looked poor, but the fierce intelligence in his light-gray eyes warned Userref that he was no ordinary wanderer.

Alarmed, he watched the stranger pull a wineskin from the sack on his shoulder and cut a hunk of grimy cheese with a large bronze knife. “So why are they after you?” he said with his mouth full.

“My mistress fell ill,” Userref said guardedly. “I went to fetch dittany. When I returned, I found a smoking ruin. Later I saw their leader with her sealstone on his wrist . . .” He choked. “She died by
fire,
so her spirit is incomplete and she can never gain eternal life!”

Thunder shook the farmhouse, and both men ducked.

“But Keftians have their own gods to look after their souls,” said the stranger.

Userref wished he could believe that. But if only Egyptians knew how to attain eternal life, didn't that condemn
all
barbarians to oblivion? All he knew was that his little sister was dead, and he would never see her again.

“You still haven't told me why the Crows are after you,” said the stranger.

“You're right, I haven't,” Userref said politely. Slipping his hand inside his sack, he touched the snakeskin bundle that hid the dagger of Koronos. “Why did you help me?”

The Akean shrugged. “The Crows are my enemies. I saw them hunting you. And maybe—because you're a long way from home, and so am I . . . You must miss the land of the Great River,” he added in Egyptian.

Userref's eyes stung. It was years since he'd heard it spoken by anyone but Pirra.

Then he had an alarming thought. Why would some ragged Akean cross his path, speaking Egyptian?
Was this man a god in disguise?
“Wh-who
are
you?” he faltered. “What do you seek?”

“Well, I wasn't seeking you. Let's just say I'm looking for some people I used to know who hate the Crows as much as I do. What about you? Where are you heading?”

Userref hesitated. He'd sworn to Pirra that he would keep the dagger safe until he found a way for a god to destroy it. But how
could
he, when he was an Egyptian, to whom the gods of Keftiu wouldn't listen?

If this man was a god, then
he
could destroy the dagger. But if he wasn't? The risk was too great. “I don't know,” he said. “Where do you think I should go?”

The stranger who might be a god took a pull at the wineskin. “Go home.”

Userref stared at him. “I can't.”

“Why not? Your mistress is dead. Why stay on Keftiu?”

Hope leaped as Userref pictured the sacred papyrus waving on the banks of
Iteru
, and his long-lost family . . . And surely in Egypt he would find a way to honor Pirra's last wish.

Again, the stranger spoke in Egyptian. “Whatever you decide, my friend, may you have long life and the sight of the Sun, and find your way to eternal peace on the horizon.”

Userref bowed low, in case this man really was a god, then returned the traditional blessing: “And may your name live forever in eternity. I shall do as you say.”