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

sympathy, or her body heat. Incensed, Elpis kicked back. Melisto retreated to the foot of the bed, as far away from Elpis as she could get. She wrapped her arms around her knees, tying herself in a knot.

A white flash lit the room, and Melisto tensed, expecting thunder. There was none. The weather had been sultry: there had been heat lightning for six nights running, but no thunder and no rain.

Elpis gave an irritable sigh and stretched out to sleep. Melisto clutched her knees and tried to think what to do. Her mind flew to the bear, chained to its post in the barn. She had left her bed before to visit it at night, and Elpis had never told on her. If she went now, she might be able to untie the knot that connected the chain to the harness.

She slid sideways, moving stealthily so as not to wake Elpis. Her toes touched the cold floor before she remembered. Untying the knot would not be enough. She needed to free the bear from the harness. If she didn’t, the rope around its neck would contract as the bear grew, tormenting it and dooming it to starvation.

What she needed was a knife. Perhaps it would be better to wait until morning, when she visited the kitchens. She would steal a knife from the kitchen: a strong knife, not too large, but sharp and stout enough to saw through rope —

She heard the sound of sandals against stone. Torchlight brought the shadows to life. One of the grandmothers spoke. Her voice was hoarse and commanding. “Girls. Get up. Go to the altar. It’s time.”

The girls swarmed from their beds. Those who slept naked found their chitons and tugged them over their heads. Breathless but staunch in their devotion to Artemis, they raced out of the dormitory and into the humid night.

Melisto’s heart hammered. What if Elpis were mistaken, and the bear were to be sacrificed tonight? She had wasted time lying in bed, fretting and planning. Now, perhaps, she was too late.

A low growl of thunder: the girl ahead of Melisto jumped straight up into the air. A small child squealed. Heat lightning was one thing, but thunder presaged a storm. Always before, the night ceremonies had been held when the sky was clear and the moonlight was strong. Melisto raised her face to the sky. Gray clouds were billowing, casting migrant shadows on the earth. The ground looked watery and uneven.

The flock of girls reached the open space around the altar. Melisto forced herself to look in all directions. Tethered in front of the temple was a goat.

A goat. Melisto’s knees sagged with relief. One of the priestesses began to play the double flute, and Melisto fumbled for the hands of the girls next to her. The children formed a ring around the altar. They looked to Korinna to see if they should dance. Korinna’s hair was wind-tossed, and she wore a white himation. She stepped to one side, beginning a counterclockwise circle. Her voice rose in a song of praise, a hymn to Artemis.

The girls chimed in, taking up the melody one by one. Melisto felt her skin turn to gooseflesh. Under that troubled sky, the music was eerie as well as beautiful. The air was freshening. Melisto filled her lungs and sang louder. When the last phrase died away, Korinna nodded to one of the older children, who went to untie the nanny goat.

The girl led the goat toward the altar, tempting her by scooping out handfuls of grain from a basket. Suddenly the goat balked. Perhaps the wind made her skittish. She shook her horns and backed up, haunches shivering. Then she plunged forward, horns lowered, butting the girl and knocking her basket to the ground.

At that moment, there was a white glare of lightning. The sky split open and the rain poured down.

It quenched the priestesses’ torches and made the children shriek. The goat bleated and scampered away, rope dangling. One of the priestesses shouted, “Girls! Inside!” The sacrifice would have to be abandoned. The goat was unwilling: a bad omen.

The shivering girls did not wait to be told twice. They broke their circle and streamed toward the building. Only Melisto did not go. She dashed for the portico of the temple and hid behind a stone column. As soon as the others had gone, she ran toward the altar. The sacrificial knife was concealed in the basket of grain. She found the fallen basket, raked through the grain, and found it.

A thrill of fear ran through her. The knife was sacred. It was also the tool she needed. The blade was curved close to the handle, designed to cut through an animal’s windpipe. The knife was so sharp that when she tested it with her forefinger, it sliced the outer layer of skin before she knew it. She made a fist around the handle and began to run.

By the time she reached the stable, her chiton was sodden and her hair hung straight with water. She darted under the overhang and wiped her face with her wet hands. As soon as she climbed into the stall, the bear trotted up to her. It wrapped its paws around her waist and pressed its face against her, a child hiding in its mother’s skirts. Melisto stroked it, grateful for its warmth. Loose hair and grit stuck to her hands.

When the bear loosened its grip, she sank down in the straw. The bear circled her and tramped into her lap. Still standing, it began to suckle her neck. Melisto tensed against the pain. She stuck a finger in the corner of its mouth to break the suction.

The bear made a sound of infant satisfaction. It was glad she had come through the storm. It hummed like a hive of bees and settled down close to her. The rain was falling more gently now. Melisto was tempted to let the bear suckle until it was sleepy. Then they could