Everyone Should Eat His Own Turtle (A Greek Myth Novel) by H.C. Southwark (nonfiction book recommendations TXT) 📕

This last image stuck in her mind, tripping over and over again: the tone of Kleto’s voice, not only in the robbers’ den, but just now, insulting Isme about Artemis…

At last I understand, she realized. You are not so confusing after all, mainlander woman. I know the emotion on your face, I can finally see your heart.

Jealousy.

Readjusting herself, pushing her feet firmer against the ground, Isme ran at her conclusion, glancing at Kleto as she did, unseen and unseeing in the dark. Kleto was jealous. And why should she not be? Isme was some kind of carefree and happy creature that played in the woods while Kleto worked hard and served men.

But you do not know everything, Kleto. You do not know those lonely moments on the shore of my father’s island, staring out to see the mainland—and you do not know what it is like to kill a seal and haul it with nothing but the strength of your arms across the woods... Or what it is like to go singing and see the results lying on the beach the next morning, the smell of sea salt on former human beings...

Or about the end of the world.

Closing her eyes, for the result was much the same anyway, Isme steadied herself, kept putting one foot in front of another, carried the weight. At last she understood something on the mainland, a little thing, but something. There was a small curl of triumph in her.

She thought, as they walked, that she could hear noises behind…

Footsteps in the woods.

TEN.

~

They must have kept running all through what remained of the night, for Isme’s sight was becoming easier to make out shapes, and then all at once there was color. Dull, powdered yellow, but still that meant the sun had risen.

Turning, Isme marked which way was east. Still—they were completely lost. Not only had they traversed in an unknown direction through the woods, they had also fled without knowing any bearing, doubling the confusion. Isme had no idea how she was supposed to find someone when she was lost herself, not without tracking as though hunting. Glancing over at Kleto, however, she saw that the other woman was still grimly determined.

Perhaps Kleto knows a way to find the caravan, thought Isme. Or, she amended, perhaps Kleto is simply accepting that being lost is better than our previous fates.

At full daylight, Isme asked, “How do we find the caravan?”

Kleto said, “We were on the road to Delphi. If we head towards Delphi, we should either arrive ahead or behind of the caravan.”

Nodding, Isme said, “Then how do we find that road?”

“Carefully,” said Kleto. “If people see us, they are likely robbers. I don’t suppose a wild woman like you knows how to track our previous steps?”

“That would only lead us back to those men.”

If they are still men, Isme amended, uncertain whether the birds were herald to a transformation. The robbers had seemed strangely shaped as they had fled...

Kleto stirred under Pelagia’s arm, and Isme could see the strain in her shoulders. Pelagia had become dead weight sometime between dawn light and the risen sun.

Isme halted. Both women sank to their knees on the ground. Pelagia looked deflated, and except for Kleto’s internal fires, she seemed half dead.

Behind them, Isme could still hear the footsteps of the voice in the woods, following as always. No doubt the creature was watching them even now. She wondered what it was thinking—whether it would blame her for what had happened to the robbers, even though some part of her declared that they absolutely deserved it.

Kleto cocked her head, said, “What is that sound?”

“What sound?” Isme asked, not believing Kleto could hear the footsteps of the voice in the woods—though, she amended, just because the voice had not been heard by others did not mean that it could not be heard at all. Indeed, it fell quiet whenever others were around. Was that not proof that others should be able to hear it?

“That sound,” repeated Kleto, “Behind us—it sounds like—"

Pelagia lurched half-upright, wincing on her ankle, crying, “They followed us!”

Isme wanted to say that there was nothing to fear, as far as she knew; because the voice had not hurt her yet, probably was not interested in them anyway, and besides was nothing compared to the men they had left behind. All the voice had done so far was tell her bad news. And yet Pelagia’s conclusion stirred her thoughts, as she realized: not every sound of footsteps in the woods had to belong to her invisible stalker.

Kleto met her eyes over Pelagia’s shoulder. And Isme knew then that Kleto was going to do as she had when first captured: fight.

Turning abruptly, Kleto let her half of Pelagia’s weight sag, leaving Isme alone to bear her. Isme watched as Kleto began to scramble in the bushes, doubtless looking for a stick or rock.

She said, “Why not use the knife?”

Kleto did not pause. “I lost it when those birds came.”

Pelagia screamed. Isme turned to see a man burst from the bushes, running toward them. He was covered in scratches and blood—surely a robber—

They should run. Run! The cry was on Isme’s lips. And yet she had only to glance at Pelagia, ankle swollen, and at Kleto scrabbling in the dirt to realize running was not an option. Kleto was never going to leave Pelagia behind.

So Isme did the only thing that she could think of: she charged.

Perhaps Isme attacking first would give Kleto time to find a weapon and join the fight. Yet when Isme collided with the man she found that Kleto had better act quickly—because he had the same solid build as if she was striking an upright stone.

The man budged only a little, grunting as she impacted, and then the next moment his hand tangled in her hair, wrenching her neck so sharply that Isme barely retained consciousness. She had done