This Immortal Heart: A Novel of Aphrodite(97)

While my doves slumber, I take the shape of one myself to glide unassuming through the infinite sky. From above, I can appreciate the wild, strange beauty of this place. There are no settlements—no tiny hamlets or clustered cities. There is grass, endless grass. There are forests and mountains, and a flash of a snaking river here and there.

Movement catches my eye, and I flutter down to take a closer look. There are two dozen or so men, busy dismantling their camp. They load animal skins onto a wagon along with wooden sticks; I can see from the structures still standing that these are their shelters. A horse waits patiently, tied to the wagon with a long rope, its tail flicking every now and again.

A little further along, I see more horses grazing. Ropes are looped about their necks, attached to stumps that jut from the ground, giving the animals plenty of space to roam. Apart from the animals, wherever I look, I see only men—ranging from the youngest, with just a faint dusting of beard, to the oldest, with sprinklings of gray in their dark hair and beards. They’re grizzled and weather-beaten from the wide exposed steppe, but all are lean and strong, energetic and watchful. They’re the first people I’ve seen in this place.

Before I have a chance to work out who called to me, they are engulfed by chaos. It comes out of nowhere; a ferocious clamor of whoops and yells rings over the camp, and the men startle into action, shouting to one another and leaping to untether the horses. But a horde of warriors are soon upon them, clouds of dust billowing from the hooves of their galloping steeds, choking the men who fall back, spluttering.

I rear up into the sky as the attackers jump down, untying the men’s horses with practiced ease, yoking them to their own mounts and swinging themselves back up. The men seize their bows, and a hail of arrows go flying toward the raiders, but they’re too fast and too accomplished. Already they’re thundering into the distance with their stolen horses. A couple of them turn to fire their own arrows back at their pursuers, never losing their balance, and the men duck and dodge, stumbling back beyond their reach. It’s over in the blink of an eye. And when the thieves have vanished into the long grass beyond their reach, the men look around in shock at what’s left. At least half of their animals are gone.

Their language is unfamiliar to me, but I can understand their meaning. I could read their despair and frustration even if I weren’t a goddess: the way they gesticulate, arms waving and brows creasing, the stream of angry words giving way to weary sighs and slumped shoulders.

This has happened to them before, I gather. It’s a scenario repeated every day across the territories under my rule as well. Thieves and raiders, skirmishes and robberies, they’re common everywhere.

But what was unusual about these raiders is that every single one of them was a woman.



* * *



—

It’s intriguing. What world is this where women are raiders and men their hapless victims? My eye follows the empty distance that swallowed the attackers, wondering. But it seems unlikely that one of those warrior women summoned me, and there is nothing in this camp except defeated misery. I’m ready to soar away and continue my search for the yearning call that brought me here, when I see him.

One of the younger ones, perhaps the youngest of all, trailing at the back of the group. They’re trudging away, their remaining horses gathered now along with their packed-up camp, but he falls behind the rest. His eyes dart back and forth, a high spot of color flushing his cheeks. The threat is long gone, but his nerves stand out to me, almost as much as the handsome set of his face and the way his thick hair gleams in the sunlight.

He’s the one, I know it. The one whose anguish I heard. Whatever it was that drove him to cry out to the empty sky is still troubling him now. It’s not the raiders. It’s something else—something that calls to me and me alone.

The distance grows between him and his party, and he takes his chance. Abruptly, he leaves the path that the others follow and sets off into the waving grass.

I follow the beat of his heart straining against his chest.

I feel it too: a fevered need to know what it is that he seeks.

He reaches a narrow stream near a sparse clump of trees and shades his eyes from the blazing sunlight, peering in either direction. I settle in one of the trees, waiting to see what happens.

On the other side of the stream, someone approaches. His pulse pounds faster, but he doesn’t run.

A small figure, wrapped in a hooded cloak, skirts quickly between the scattered trees and stops across the water from him. He holds his breath, and the figure shakes the hood away, the cloak falling to the ground, her hair flowing over her shoulders.

I stare, dumbstruck, at her face. I didn’t get a good look at the individual raiders—they were a blur of ferocity—but I caught glimpses of animal skins, patterned tunics and studded belts. She’s dressed the same, but, moreover, her proud stance and the fire that flashes in her eyes tells me that she’s one of them.

Is this a fight? Or something else entirely?

“Hello,” she says, her tongue stumbling slightly on the word. He nods enthusiastically, and I realize that they don’t speak the same language as each other. I cock my head, watching closely.

He reaches out his hand. She takes it, stepping over the stream so that she’s in front of him, looking up into his face.

Only moments ago, I witnessed her sisters decimate his camp. And yet, he’s gazing down at her as though she’s precious, while sympathy softens her expression. He hangs his head, and she brings his hand up to her heart, holding it in her own. They’re hesitant in their speech, but she’s bolder—more fluent in his tongue than he is in hers—and I piece together what they’re saying.