Amber and Clay by Laura Schlitz (phonics books txt) 📕

“Is she angry?” Elpis was half asleep. She sounded as if she might cry.

Melisto shook her head. “No, but we have to get up. There’s a rush. Get off the blanket and give me your belt. I’ll help you.”

She snatched Elpis’s himation, rolling it tightly. She lashed it to the little girl’s back, yanking the rope into place. “Come on!” she urged Elpis. All around them, the girls were putting on sandals, tying their cloaks to their backs.

The handmaids shuttled between them, their torches ablaze. One of Korinna’s dogs howled. The moon was high overhead; dappling the grass with light like frost. Yellow fire from the torches, streaming: white light cast from above. Melisto shivered.

Korinna threw back her head and cried out like a wolf howling: “Ololyzo!” The word held no meaning, but called the gods to attention. “Ololyzo!” She whirled away from the pack, sprinting ahead. The dogs lunged forward, barking. The girls dashed after them, out of the grove and into an open meadow. Dew moistened their feet and their naked legs. Melisto fell and was up in an instant; Elpis kicked off her sandals. Breathless and damp and moonstruck they ran, trailing the priestess’s torch.

There before them they saw it: the wide bridge, the foaming spring, the sacred cave and the temple. This breathless, headlong flight was their entry into Brauron. Just at the edge of the bridge, Korinna spread out her arms like wings. The girls stopped in their tracks, obedient as the dogs.

“Ololyzo!” Korinna tossed her torch in the spring. It hissed like a snake. The priestess raised her arms to the sky and began to spin in circles.

Melisto found herself spinning. Her unbelted tunic ballooned around her. She spun until she was dizzy. There was a tumult of sound: the liquid noise of the water, footfalls on soft earth, Elpis’s laughter. Korinna was singing a tune that surged and broke as she panted for breath. The ragged song reached an open space deep inside Melisto. It was a praise song for Artemis, Artemis the fierce and bright, the tall and chaste; Artemis the deer slayer, the strong-voiced; the protector of maidens, of stags and wolves and bears.

Melisto staggered in circles. Her head was tipped back, her arms flung wide. Her heart pounded. She loved the night and the round moon; she loved Korinna; she loved the goddess Artemis with all her heart.

The song reached its end. Korinna scooped up handfuls of water from the spring and dashed it into the girls’ faces, laughing as they flinched and squealed. She pivoted and crossed the stone bridge, the dogs leaping after her. The girls followed in a rush.

Elpis caught up with Melisto and grabbed her hand. Melisto squeezed hard. They tumbled forward, toward the sanctuary. Old women with oil lamps poured out of the building. They greeted the children with kisses and smiles, and ushered them inside.

Inside were more lamps, and rooms lined with dining couches. The rooms were like Arkadios’s andron, which puzzled the girls: banqueting halls were for guests and men, important men. Still the women urged the children forward, settling them onto the couches. There was a mouthwatering aroma of food: not wild plants, not porridge, but bread and cheese and roasted fish. For that night, the girls would feast as men did, half reclining.

Melisto climbed onto one of the couches; Elpis scrambled up beside her. The table in front of their couch held deep cups of water. Melisto gulped hers and found it laced with wine.

Hungry and thirsty, she ate and drank. The wine lulled her and made Elpis tipsy. After the first pangs of hunger had been satisfied, Melisto untied their himations. She covered Elpis with one, and the little girl curled up next to her, falling asleep at once.

Melisto stayed awake. With her thumb, she smeared goat cheese and honey on bread, craving the salt and the sweet. She saw the other girls stretching out and covering themselves, accepting the dining couches as beds for the night. The older women passed back and forth, gathering up bowls and cups. They blew out the lamps. The rooms were still bright; moonlight spilled between the columns, painting white stripes on the floor.

Melisto unfolded her own himation. She pulled it over her shoulders, grunting with satisfaction as she snuggled down, warm and fed. She was almost asleep when she brought her half-closed hand up to her throat.

Her neck was bare. The amber sphinx had been left behind, on the opposite side of the bridge.

4. SANCTUARY

She left it there.

Her life at the sanctuary was a new world. It was as if Artemis had plucked her from her native soil and shaken the earth off her roots. At Brauron, Melisto was transplanted, watered, and refreshed. She was not homesick at all. Her world had not been turned upside down, but right side up; Brauron agreed with her, and she thrived.

There was little supervision during the day. Though the priestesses and their handmaids had the power to correct the girls’ behavior, they seldom bothered. Melisto rose late; she liked lying in bed, tangle-haired and lazy; she liked watching the sunlight glow against the dormitory wall. When at last she got up, she went in search of bread — some of the girls, for reasons Melisto could not imagine, liked baking and cooked for the others. Melisto would snatch a loaf and go to eat on the stone bridge.

Often she sat for hours with her feet in the bubbling spring. She dropped crumbs for the fish, caged them between her fingers, and let them swim out again. Leaning back, she squinted against the blue sky; flopping over, she was spellbound by the play of light on water. One morning she was moved to strip off her chiton and bathe. No one criticized her, and she made a habit of ducking into the water and splashing herself. She kept on good terms with the nymphs of the spring, honoring them