Cybele's Secret - Juliet Marillier - Cybeles Secret
“I see,” Stoyan said. “Well, it is accurate. But these sailors see only the outer beauty; their verse says nothing of your courage, Paula, nor of your honesty and strength. This is a beauty far deeper than the blush of a rose.” Without another word, he turned and headed off toward the cabin, leaving me speechless.
Before dusk, a crewman spotted the sails of a three-master behind us, rusty red against the slate gray of the sky. He called to Pero, who swore and fetched Duarte. It didn’t matter that Stoyan and I could not understand what they were saying. It was clear the pursuer was on our tail.
Commands rang out, and men moved efficiently to obey, climbing masts, putting on extra sail, doing what could be done to make speed before night fell. I was ordered below, and obeyed. Stoyan remained on deck, a useful extra hand. Alone in the cabin, I sat on the bunk as the ship gained speed, rolling as she went. What would happen if we were boarded? Would Stoyan come down to protect me or fall in some bloody encounter above my head, leaving me as prey for an attacker? I eyed the bound strongbox that housed Cybele’s Gift. Suddenly, this seemed an awful lot of fuss for one little statue.
“What if they’re all killed?” I whispered, half to the bee goddess, half to myself. I thought of the crewmen and their song; I thought of Pero asking eagerly if he could be taught to read. I considered Duarte with his delightful dimples and his sharp wit; I pictured Stoyan at the han by night, his fingers gentle against my face as he whispered away my terror. “This is wrong,” I murmured. “This can’t be what you want.”
The sky was covered with heavy cloud. With the waxing moon obscured, there could be no sailing after nightfall. Fortunately, if we could not go on, neither could the red-sailed vessel, unless she was crewed by bats and owls. Stoyan came down to tell me the crewmen were running the Esperança into a narrow inlet for the night. Duarte had ordered all lights to be extinguished as soon as possible; there would be no games this evening. We would move on as soon as the sky began to lighten. Everyone was praying for a favorable wind. Duarte, Stoyan said, was consulting over a chart with Pero and two other crewmen.
After passing on his information, Stoyan went silent. As for me, I was still pondering the remark he’d made earlier about inner beauty. His words had made my cheeks grow hot. What did this mean? Duarte and Irene had both on occasion tried to imply that Stoyan harbored feelings for me beyond those appropriate between a merchant’s daughter and her bodyguard. I recognized there was a bond between us now that went far beyond my friendship with, say, my two brothers-in-law. Those nights at the han had been like something that belonged in a different part of my life from everything else: a place that was secret, private, special.
I reminded myself that we were on a pirate ship, headed for an unknown destination with someone dangerous on our tail. Under the circumstances, I could not afford to spend time mulling over what Stoyan might or might not think of me and whether or not it was inappropriate. I’d got us into enough of a mess already without creating further complications.
Stoyan sat on the floor in his usual spot, in the dark, and I sat on the bed.
“What if they catch up?” I mused. “Will they board us? I’m sure these men would fight hard. They may not care about Cybele’s Gift, but they worship Duarte. They’d die for him, every last one of them, I’m certain. I’d much rather not die yet, Stoyan. I’ve got so many more things I want to do. I wonder if they can sail the Esperança out of trouble?”
No response.
“I thought Tati might come back,” I said. “There’s been one more sister on her embroidery each time she manifested, and she hasn’t shown me Stela yet, the youngest. If we saw her on the ship, it would confirm that this is part of the mission we’re supposed to accomplish.”
“We?” murmured Stoyan.
“You and I. And Duarte, I suppose. I wish he’d tell us exactly where we’re going.”
“I will do so.” Duarte’s voice came from the doorway, and a moment later he stepped over Stoyan’s legs and entered the cabin, a tall shadow coming to perch on the edge of the bunk. This time I did not move away. “We have made a decision about tomorrow, and it is time for me to explain that to you, as well as some other matters. Then you must rest.”
“What about tomorrow?” I asked nervously. “Can we outsail them, Duarte?”
“We must do so.” His voice held a darkness of its own; its intensity scared me. “Their vessel seems of similar size and capability to the Esperança. However, there is one element they lack: a crew to equal mine. If the pursuer remains within sight after a morning’s sailing, there is a particular option we can take. It is dangerous; I will not lie to you. By midday we will be close to a place where the land juts out in a large promontory on which steep cliffs rise from the water’s edge. A mountain range lies not far inland. I believe certain conditions will be in place when we reach that area allowing us to utilize a wind that comes down over the mountains, then creates a powerful, funneling effect around the promontory. A columnate wind, the phenomenon is called. The closer to the cliffs we sail, the more speed we can make. That way we can open sufficient distance so the Mufti’s crew loses sight of us until after nightfall. From that point on, I believe I can evade them.”
“Dangerous, you say,” said Stoyan when it became apparent I was not going to comment. “How dangerous? What are our chances of surviving such a maneuver with the ship intact and no lives lost?”
I imagined Duarte’s fierce grin in the dark.
“Better than those of the other ship,” the pirate said. “And I prefer them greatly to the prospect of a hand-to-hand battle should the pursuer overtake us and attempt to board. My men are sailors, not warriors. They can account for themselves with sword or club, but I would rather they did not have to.”
“This may seem like a silly question,” I said, trying not to sound shaky, “but I imagine falling overboard in that area you mentioned, near the cliffs, would mean one could not swim to land. Yes?”
“I will keep you safe, Paula.” Stoyan’s tone was steady as a rock, and I felt marginally better for it, even though I doubted his capacity to save me from deep waters, strong winds, and precipitous cliffs all at the same time.
“It’s not decided yet.” Duarte remained calm. “I wanted to warn you, since tomorrow will be a busy day, and if we must attempt that maneuver, nobody will have time for explanations.”
“You said that in due course you would tell us about our destination,” Stoyan said. “Is now the time for that?”
Duarte cleared his throat. “Very well. Let us assume tomorrow’s sailing is successful, we outrun the pursuer and lose him, we continue on a certain distance to the east. Two more days of sailing, by Pero’s estimation. Our landfall will be in a settlement so small it is not recorded on maps. There I will be put ashore with the artifact while the ship is taken to a place of concealment not far away to await my return. There is a track from that settlement up into the mountains—it is a region of high peaks and thick vegetation, a place of much rain. To take Cybele’s Gift home requires the crossing of a mountain pass. A steep and arduous climb. I will take only a small party with me. On the other side of the pass is a village, remote and…unusual. It is to that place that the artifact must be returned.”
Stoyan and I both spoke at once.
“Is that where—”
“A party, what—”
“You would ask, is that where one might find the other part of Cybele’s Gift?” Duarte’s voice was very soft. “So I have been told, Paula. Maybe the rumors that attracted the Mufti’s attention are accurate. Maybe someone has revived the cult of Cybele in the heart of Istanbul. But its true observance belongs not in that great trading city but in the most obscure of mountain villages, where a community that has loved and guarded the statue for generations is awaiting its return. The goddess Cybele is said to have retreated from this world long ago, when humankind had become deaf to the old messages of the earth that are so central to her lore. This mountain was her most holy of places, and the people who dwelt high on its flank were entrusted with her last words of wisdom, inscribed on a little statue formed in her likeness. Many years ago, an unscrupulous man found the secret village and attempted to steal the artifact. In that raid, the statue was broken. Half was taken away. Half remained with the mountain folk, held safe until the other should be returned and Cybele mended again.”
I tried to take all this in. “If that’s true,” I said, thinking hard, “why are you the only person who seems to know about it? What are your sources?”
“This mission was laid on me by a man born and bred in that place, a man who saved my life at the price of his own. He told me everything I know about Cybele’s Gift, including details of its appearance. I believe I was the only bidder unsurprised when the statue was revealed at the house of Barsam the Elusive.”
There was a silence while we contemplated this. Then Stoyan said, “This mission is a debt of honor for you?”
“Acquired when I was young and still testing myself against the world,” said Duarte. “I come from a merchant family, respectable, prosperous, but I had turned my back on them in a foolish desire to prove myself unaided. Mustafa and I were crew together on a spice ship. He spoke much of the remote place of his birth. He hoped in time to earn sufficient silver to set out on a very particular quest. Mustafa hoped he might find the missing piece of this statue that was so central to the faith of his home community and return it there. Each night he muttered a prayer to Cybele that she would help him find what he sought and deliver him safely home to his loved ones.
“There was a shipwreck. My friend and I found ourselves washed up on an unknown shore together. We were set upon by tribesmen and imprisoned in a little hut, injured and weak. I think they believed us to be devils. Peering out through the cracks in this meager dwelling, I could see preparations for a ritual killing, perhaps to be carried out at dawn. We discovered a chink through which escape might be possible, if we were prepared to risk the jungle and its wild creatures. But Mustafa’s leg was broken; he could not walk. At first, I refused to leave without him. ‘I will carry you,’ I said, knowing we would not get far. ‘No,’ he said. ‘Go. Live.’ I told him, ‘I will not go without you. What about your mission? What about Cybele’s Gift?’ Mustafa smiled through his pain. ‘You will find it for me,’ he said. ‘Fair trade. I give you a life. You give my people a future. Go, Duarte. I will talk through the night to cover your escape. Go now!’
“I hope I never again have to make such a choice. I do not know, still, if I did right or wrong. I squeezed out of the hut and fled into the jungle. I left Mustafa to his fate. The rest of the story is unimportant. All I brought home from that unfortunate voyage were the rags on my back and my debt of honor. Mustafa’s mission had become mine. I have searched for Cybele’s Gift a long time. I will not let anyone stop me from taking it back. Not even the Sheikh-ul-Islam.”
We rewarded this narrative with a few moments’ respectful silence. There was no doubt Duarte was telling the truth. His voice was trembling with emotion. As for the future of Cybele’s Gift, I realized I would have to rethink my attitude toward it. If there was indeed a place where folk still believed in the bee goddess and pinned their hopes on the return of this symbol, it was hard to argue that the artifact belonged anywhere else. Even a scholarly and respectful collector such as the one for whom Father had been working could not better such a claim. With a certain sadness, I felt my belief in the mission that had brought Father and me all the way to Istanbul slipping away.
“How many men do you plan to take ashore?” Stoyan asked Duarte. “A climb through a mountain pass, you said. How long will that take, and what if the ship is attacked while you are gone?”
“I will take as few as possible. A small party will be quicker, but there must be enough so we can defend ourselves if necessary. Pero has volunteered. The ship will be concealed; you should be quite safe. If the Esperança can set my party down, then sail to its waiting point unobserved, I do not think the pursuer will track us. The village is difficult to reach, isolated and small. Those who seek to take Cybele’s Gift from me will only find the place by walking in my footsteps. I wish to ensure they cannot do so.”
All through this speech, I was becoming increasingly edgy. Duarte had no way of knowing that the powers of the Other Kingdom had decided Stoyan and I had a quest, too. If there was some old friend of Drǎgua, the wood witch, in this part of the world, someone who needed a favor, Mustafa’s mountain village sounded just the kind of place where we might find her. It would be remiss of me not to warn Duarte. It seemed to me that he might not fulfill his mission unless both of us helped him. I hesitated.
“You have little to say, Paula.” Duarte’s voice came through a darkness in which I was aware that the movement of the ship had lessened and the sounds of voices from above had quieted. The Esperança had reached tonight’s safe mooring. “Can it be that you do not believe me?”
“I do believe you, Duarte,” I said, realizing I was clutching my hands together nervously and making myself relax them. “Stoyan and I have something to tell you. We have listened to your tale. Now you should listen to ours, because I believe it may be tied up with what you plan to do.”
“Very well.”
I told him everything. That my sister, who lived in a world beyond the human one, had come to us and told us about a quest. I spoke of her appearance on this very ship the day we reached Istanbul. I outlined the strange happenings in Irene’s library, the manuscript pages I suspected had been set out for me to find, the tree puzzle, the miniatures that seemed like clues to a task we were bid to undertake. I repeated the cryptic words: Find the heart, for there lies wisdom. The crown is the destination and Make me whole. When I was finished, there were a few moments of utter silence. Then Duarte chuckled.
“Well, Paula, you are an imaginative storyteller. I place no credence in the supernatural. I acknowledge that such beliefs remain strong in isolated places and amongst those who have good reason to adhere to them—the simpler kind of seafaring men, for instance. Folk cling to their gods and spirits in hope of finding comfort and meaning in difficult lives, and the return of items like Cybele’s Gift provides such people with heart and purpose. But I would not expect an educated young woman to have a head full of visions, dreams, and wild imaginings. Perhaps your true calling is not as a scholar but as a writer of diverting romances for the entertainment of noble ladies.”
A tumult of emotions churned inside me: anger, hurt, bitter disappointment that this man I’d been beginning to trust and to like very much had dismissed the precious secret I had confided in him as if it were nonsense. I sat there, mute, as furious tears welled in my eyes. I held them back and found words.
