Cybele's Secret - Juliet Marillier - Cybeles Secret
Struggling to dislodge the creature from her ankle, Tati lost her balance and fell to one knee. Immediately, four or five of the gargoyles leaped to cling to her, growling and shrieking. Stay calm? My heart was pounding and my breath was coming in panicky gasps. My blood was boiling with outrage on my sister’s behalf. A pox on the Other Kingdom! I gathered myself to break every rule I knew about quests. No peri was going to make me stand by and watch my sister being bitten to death.
Stoyan’s hand fastened around my arm, holding me back. He gestured, pointing to himself, then to Tati. He looked from me to Duarte and back again, his expression clearly saying, Let me do it.
I could not see any way he could manage it other than by disobeying the peri’s order and rushing across to try to pluck Tati to safety. Let that happen, and no doubt a terrible fate would befall the two of them, likely a plunge through the grating to the flames below. In a place like this, rules were rules—even Duarte, a man who in the outside world was a law unto himself, was not supposed to break the codes of the Other Kingdom. If I trusted Stoyan with this, two people I loved would suffer a horrible death right before my eyes. I looked desperately at Duarte, thinking he, of all of us, might have some surprising solution, some brilliant, quirky answer to this apparently impossible challenge. But he only shrugged and shook his head.
My sister was crouched down, her head bowed toward her knees. The gargoyles were all over her, eight or ten of them, snapping. Her body jerked and flinched as the teeth made their mark. I could see blood on her bound hands. Stoyan touched my shoulder, making sure he had my attention. There was a smile on his lips and in his amber eyes a shining confidence, and suddenly I understood the crone’s words to me. How brave are you, Paula? Are you brave enough to admit your weakness? Brave enough to trust? Swallowing my tears, I laid my hand against Stoyan’s ragged tunic, over his heart, and nodded. Then I stepped back.
Stoyan clicked his fingers. The dog moved up beside him, alert, quiet. I’d been so shocked by Tati’s predicament that I had forgotten it was there. Stoyan made a simple gesture, hand slightly cupped down by the dog’s face, motioning it forward.
The dog moved steadily, advancing with confidence across the narrow spans, ignoring the menacing light, the rushes of heat from the gaps between. It padded toward the quivering form of my sister. It did not hesitate, even when three of the creatures came scuttling straight toward it, hissing and shrieking defiance. The hound opened its massive jaws and uttered a single, monstrous bark of warning that echoed around the cavern as if it had summoned a whole pack of great dogs in its support. The creatures hesitated, then retreated.
The hound reached Tati and barked again, right next to her head. Unsurprisingly, Tati cowered lower. One gargoyle, particularly bold, was creeping toward the dog now, ready to seize a leg in its jaws. A piercing shriek sounded in my ear, momentarily deafening me: The creature on my shoulder, the one that looked like a miniature cousin of those attackers out there, had sounded a shrill warning. The dog made a snatch, a snap, a jerk of the head, and the would-be attacker was flung across the grille to fall neatly into one of the gaping holes. There was a little fizzing sound, a puff of dark smoke, then silence. Beside my left ear, my own gargoyle gave a muted hum of satisfaction.
Stoyan clapped his hands twice, sharply. The dog looked across at him. Tati was huddled down as if trying to press her face into the ground. How could he do it? How could he let her know she was under a friend’s guidance now and would be safe if she could only bring herself to trust?
Stoyan motioned to the hound, keeping the gesture clear. Come. Lead her.
The dog nosed at Tati’s cheek, gentle as a loved household pet. It gave a little whine, licking her face. Tati stirred.
Duarte began to whistle. The tune he chose was a jig, innocent and jaunty, a melody full of the joy of life. It was entirely alien in this place of darkness, fire, and pain. He could not have known the power such a sound would have to lift my sister’s spirits, for he had dismissed as fantasy my tale of full moon revels in a mysterious fairy kingdom. But we knew jigs, Tati and I. We’d pranced our way through hundreds of them over the years with our uncanny companions. In this cavern speech was forbidden. But nobody had said anything about music.
Tati sat up, turning her head toward the sound. A foolish gargoyle was creeping closer, eyes glinting with greed. The dog, intent on washing my sister’s face, had not seen it. The gargoyle sprang, landing on the hound’s neck and sinking in its fangs. The dog yelped and twisted, struggling to dislodge its unwelcome passenger. It was perilously close to the platform’s edge.
The bee left my shoulder, winging across the divide. I could not see exactly what it did, but suddenly the clinging gargoyle was thrashing on the platform, and a moment later it was gone, fallen into the fire. The dog shook itself and returned its attention to Tati. The bee alighted on my shoulder once more. Perhaps all it had needed to do was provide a diversion. Or maybe the bees of the Other Kingdom sting and sting again and do not die.
Tati was on her feet, her bound hands against the dog’s neck and her blindfolded face turned toward us. Duarte whistled on, the tune more muted now, for Stoyan had begun to coax the animal back. Without benefit of his voice, he used his body with eloquence, crouching, gesturing, mouthing words of encouragement, clapping his hands when he wanted the creature to pay attention, for here and there it was necessary to turn sharply, to circle, to backtrack in order to reach us. Tati held on, her face chalk-white below the dark cloth of the blindfold, her feet wobbling on the narrow tracks of the grille. On my right shoulder, the little bird twittered a counterpoint to Duarte’s melody.
Tati was almost here. She was moving across the treacherous path, leaving the gargoyles behind. They were clustered on the edge of the platform, watching us with crestfallen expressions on their odd little faces. I breathed again, a great gasp for air, my relief like a spasm all through my body. He had saved her. Against the odds, Stoyan had found a remarkable, ingenious way to solve the seemingly impossible puzzle.
Tati had reached us. The two men stretched down to help her up to safety, and the dog jumped up after her.
“Oh, Stoyan, thank you,” I breathed; then, at a nod from our guide, I untied my sister’s blindfold and threw my arms around her.
“It is good,” said the peri coolly as Duarte undid the bonds around Tati’s wrists, and my sister hugged me back. Stoyan spoke quietly to the dog, praising it for its courage and obedience. Then Tati, looking over my shoulder, suddenly shrieked, “Emerald!” and released her hold on me. She reached out a hand toward Duarte, and the green snake uncoiled itself from his arm and flowed onto hers, making its way up to her shoulders.
“Where was she? Where did you find her?” Tati was addressing a bemused Duarte, using the language of the Other Kingdom. “Oh, thank you so much for bringing her back!”
“Delighted to oblige,” Duarte said smoothly. He had no doubt noticed that, even when she was pale with shock, my sister was a woman of exceptional beauty. “Your Emerald had discovered some far bigger companions; they made it somewhat difficult for me to reach her, but my instructions were to retrieve one particular creature, and that was what I did. And put myself off climbing for the rest of my life.” He examined his palms, which now bore rope burns in addition to the damage inflicted by our passage through the mountain. “A little friend of yours, I take it?”
“My dear companion,” Tati said. “Given to me by Drǎgua, the witch of the wood. I thought I’d lost her forever. She insisted on coming, and then she slithered off on her own. Oh, Paula, I have so much to tell you—”
The peri interrupted, using the same language Tati had, that nameless tongue we could all understand but not identify. “If you would be first to reach Cybele’s treasure trove and make your claim, you must move on now. Say your goodbyes.”
“What?” I gasped. It was the first proper chance I’d had to talk to my sister since she left us for the Other Kingdom six years ago. “Already? But Tati’s hurt; she’s bleeding. It’s so soon—”
“I’m all right, Paula.” Tati’s voice was shaky, but as she showed me her hands, I could see no trace of injury—her skin was ghostly white but unmarked. “The fear was real enough, the pain as well,” she said, “but the rest was mostly illusion, I think. We must do as they tell us. Maybe I’ll see you again soon, if I’ve got this right. Oh, Paula, I did so want to be able to explain what I was doing, but there were rules….”
I was wordless. I felt as if I had been thumped in the chest and all the air pushed out of me. “You can’t go,” I whispered. But I was not so foolish as to believe I could change the laws of the Other Kingdom. If her quest depended on obedience, then she must obey, and so must I.
“Sorrow’s waiting for me,” Tati said, and as we walked back under the archway to the larger cavern, I saw to my surprise that it was so. The crone still waited there, not far from the pile of treasure, and at a slight distance stood the pale-faced, black-clad form of my sister’s sweetheart, his grave gaze leaping instantly to her as we appeared. She had not come all this way alone, then. I was glad of that. Still, I could feel that pain in my chest, the bittersweet hurt of holding her so briefly, then losing her again. I had not told her anything, our family news—marriages and babies and merchant voyages—our small triumphs and disasters over the years since she had left us. I had not even said how much we loved her and missed her. But perhaps she knew that. How brave are you, Paula? Brave enough to say goodbye?
“It’s time, Tatiana,” the crone said solemnly. “Your part in this is over. It is for your sister and her companions to take the quest forward now. Make your thanks and depart. Pay my respects to Drǎgua. An old friend.”
Tati smiled at Stoyan and reached to touch his arm, a gesture of gratitude. She acknowledged Duarte with a little bow of the head. Then she put her hands on either side of my face and kissed me on the brow. “Be safe, Paula. It looks as if you have good companions for your quest. I hope you’ll be happy.” The snake on her shoulders gave a faint hiss. Whether this was an objection or a farewell there was no telling.
“Goodbye, Tati,” I said, choking on my tears, and watched her walk over to Sorrow. He put his arm around her shoulders; she slipped hers around his waist. The snake moved to drape itself across the two of them. I saw in Sorrow’s face that he loved my sister every bit as much as he had when we let him take her away to the Other Kingdom—more, perhaps. His care for her was in the curve of his somber lips, the tenderness of his touch, the dark intensity of his eyes. With her free hand, Tati gave us a little wave, and the two of them walked away into the shadows. I did not think they would travel home by merchant ship or cart, on the paths of men, but by a different way.
There was a little cough behind us. Irene and Murat had emerged into the treasure cavern. They were looking less immaculate now. Their skin bore bruises and scratches, and their clothing was as torn and filthy as ours. By Murat’s side a cat stalked, palest gray, sleek and aloof. I thought it bore an uncanny resemblance to the eunuch, and this made me look again at the dog that had been so quick to obey Stoyan’s unspoken commands. On Irene’s shoulders perched creatures similar to mine: a bee and a bird—hers were green. Instead of the gargoyle, she had a rat. Her eyes met mine, the look in them supremely confident. She gave me a little crooked smile.
“You are all assembled. You have triumphed in the tests we set for you.” The old woman’s tone was solemn. “Few pass through this mountain, and still fewer emerge with wiser hearts. Perhaps you thought the tests unreasonable.” She looked at Duarte. “But this is a secret way. If you cannot learn, you will not pass through. To reach this point has required much of you. In recognition of that, the goddess offers each of you a reward.” Her gaze passed over us in turn, Stoyan and I close together, Duarte a little apart, looking exhausted, with Cybele’s Gift in his hands. Irene was holding her head high. Murat stood, impassive, by her side.
“Each of you may take one item from our treasure trove before you pass on,” the keeper of Cybele’s mysteries continued. “I am certain each can find something to please. Weapons for warriors. Books for scholars. Jewels and gold for those who lack resource. Collector’s items such as are seen but once in a lifetime. Choose with care, and only when I call your name.”
“Wait!” I could not stop myself from speaking out, though Stoyan squeezed my hand in warning. “You shouldn’t let those two pass through the cavern; they mean us only harm! They only got here because they followed us to find the way. That isn’t fair—”
The old woman fixed me with her obsidian-dark eyes. “You will choose first,” she said. “If there are rules in this place of the goddess, it is not for you to make them, Paula. Come, let us see what you have learned on your journey. Which do you value most highly now, wisdom or scholarship?”
I might have known the trials and tests were not yet over. As I considered her question, I pictured Stoyan quieting the dog, taking time, staying calm, knowing from both instinct and experience what to do. He had quickly worked out how to help Tati, though neither Duarte nor I could see a solution. I recalled, with shame, that I had at first expected my friend to use muscle, not mind, to solve that problem. I remembered him poring over the little drawings I had found so hard to make sense of, then saying, Perhaps it is less complex than you imagine.
“I have overestimated the role scholarship plays in finding answers and in understanding the world,” I told her. “I have learned that there are deeper kinds of wisdom.” I thought of Duarte supporting his friend as he dangled over the void and his stricken expression when he lost him. I heard him telling me to run ahead with Cybele’s Gift—to save it and myself. I thought of Irene’s cool voice as she ordered Murat to kill. “And I’ve learned it’s a mistake to judge people too quickly,” I added.
“Well spoken, Paula,” Irene said approvingly, as if the original question had been hers. “I do hope you will reconsider your decision now. Move on with Murat and me, and a brilliant future awaits you. You are young; perhaps the attention of these men of yours flatters you. Believe me, neither has anything of worth to offer you.”
“Choose your reward,” said the crone, waving toward the mound of treasure.
It seemed I had answered the question to her satisfaction, and now I was supposed to take some kind of prize. I had only to reach an arm’s length to pick up any one of five items, each worth a king’s ransom. My eyes fell on a lovely manuscript not far from my foot, its borders embellished in gold leaf, with little images of minarets against a night sky painted in rich deep blue. Beside it was a tiny bound book, open to show delicate calligraphy on creamy vellum. Either would make a miraculous start for my business, for each was an item nobody from here to Transylvania would be able to match.
