My Travels With Clytemnestra Ch 07

CHAPTER VII

'SALMACIS'

We've been in this jungle for five days. Aristomache was right, I would be outpacing the centaurs if I did not slow myself for their sakes. In places the plant growth is so dense and close together that a centaur literally cannot squeeze through and we are often forced to take meandering detours until a way becomes apparent.

The jungle also has a psychological effect on my companions. Clytemnestra has reminded me several times that her kind are people of the plains and steppes. Wide open country where the horizon is all the limits the view. It's true, too. She, Aristomache and Eupraxia are all starting to go a little stir-crazy. The jungle is too cramped, the trees too close and the sky never visible through the canopy.

Of course, I do all I can to make things easier, which is almost nothing, and being rational adults, they are keeping their discomfort under control, but it's clear that none of them are happy.

That's why, when we find the path in the afternoon of this fifth day there is a great rejoicing. It's not much, but it is a real path, a bare earth path, just about two yards wide with not a speck of grass growing on it. It permits a view of a good hundred yards in either direction before corners seal it off. Even that little respite from the claustrophobic pressing of trees all around is enough to make my three companions happy.

"What do you think made it?" I wonder.

Clytemnestra answers a second before Eupraxia, "This is no game trail. It was made deliberately, by thinking people."

"Do people live here?"

"My mother mentioned no one living amongst the trees, and no path," Aristomache replies, "But if our way has been true, the river is squarely that way."

She points almost directly parallel with the path and we set off, somewhat cautiously. Without conferring, all four of us have readied our rifles. Having seen that, I deliberately sling mine again. No one else does, but I'm at least going to try and look friendly should we meet whoever made the path.

"Wait," I mutter, a little way along the way.

I squat down by a little triangular black stone laying right in the middle of the way, slightly embedded in the ground.

"What is it?"

"Magic," I reply.

There's an intake of breath and Eupraxia mutters something I don't hear. I can feel magic flowing from the stone, little wafts of it like dry ice fog flowing across a floor. It's a little thing, the stone, only a few inches at each edge, pure black, but scuffed and a little dusty. All together rather dull, save for the magic within it. I touch the stone and try to feel the shape of the spell.

"Clever," I mutter, impressed by the spell, and by myself for deciphering it. Not that it's that complex.

"What is it? Is it safe?"

"Perfectly," I nod, standing, "It stops plants growing, that's what makes the path, I think. Unless I miss my guess, there will be others like it all along the way."

"So... whoever made it used sorcery?"

I nod again, "Maybe. Probably. But somebody definitely is using, or used, sorcery to keep the path open after it was made."

When we proceed, the centaurs are, if anything, even more cautious. Even Clytemnestra , who is generally fearless, and who even encourages my dabbling in the art has a wary attitude toward sorcerers in general. I can't fully bring myself to blame her.

For all that, though, I cannot quite bring myself to feel the same fear. The path is pleasant, edged with wildflowers and kindly-seeming, healthy trees. Nowhere do I sense any evil. Birds sing, some other, unidentified animals make their own right calls and all seems right with the world.

So we walk, cautiously, for almost another hour, encountering three more of the little triangular black stones, each with the same properties. From time to time the path makes a little wandering corner, probably avoiding some inconvenient bit of jungle, but always heading roughly in the direction we wish to go, on toward where we believe the river lies.

Rounding another of these corners I, who am ahead right now am the first to see her.

There's a bow in her hands, and an arrow nocked on the string, though both are held at rest. She's human, and not very tall, and has copper skin and short, dark hair flopping about her ears. Three hoops of fine gold wire are pierced through each ear. All of her clothes are in dull browns and greens, though, like her hooded cloak which is a random patchwork of different cloths and leathers in every jungle colour. I'm certain she could have blended perfectly with our surroundings had she a mind to.

She smiles a pretty, confident smile and casts a look over each of us in turn. Her eyes are gold. Pure gold!

"Which of you," her voice is sweet as honey, "Is the sorceress?"

We glance at one another for a moment, all of us trying, I think, to work out what's going on and what's safe to say.

Suddenly the woman's voice cuts through our indecision, "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

Aristomache, I realise, was raising her rifle and I forcefully push the barrel down with my hand.

"That wound be me," I declare, with only a small tremor in my voice, I think.

She nods, smiling that nice smile again, "I thought so."

"Why?"

"Someone examined my spells, one of you. You're the only one who's not cradling her gun and shying away from the trees like a witch is about to burst out."

Well, if she wants to see things that way, let her. It'd be a lie to say I'm not scared. Probably moreso than the others since I know what a real sorceress could do to us where they only have their imaginations.

Trying to keep my voice level I engage her, "I meant no intrusion, I merely sensed your magic in the stones and wanted to make sure the path was safe to use."

"A wise precaution," She smiles devilishly at some secret joke.

"We mean you no harm, we only wish to go on."

I wish someone else would say something! I hate talking for the group and I feel as though a single wrong word may doom us all, or possibly we're already doomed and nothing I say can make things better or worse. Damn. How many witches can the woods of this world hold?

"Er..." I stumble for something to say, "If that's okay?"

She laughs, "What is your name, little sister?"

I give her my name, and those of my companions and when I do she introduces herself as Salmacis. She tells us to follow her, and then turns and starts walking without a backwards glance. After a confused moment we all do follow and I trot forward to catch up with her.

"Wait, where are we going?"

Salmacis doesn't wait, doesn't turn, doesn't break stride but she does reply in a soft, lilting voice meant only for me, "I don't know, where are you going?"

"The... The river. That's all. We didn't know anyone lived here. We're just trying to reach the river."

"My path will take you there. Do you fear me, my sister?"

It takes me a long moment to reply, "Yes."

"Wise, but you may stop... If you can. I will not harm you. I could have shot you all before you were even aware you were attacked. Yet I did not."

"We're shielded, you must sense that."

Salmacis harrumphs, it's a disturbingly cute noise, "And what is that to a sorceress?"

"You mean you can break them?"

"You cannot?"

"Er... Well, no... I mean, probably... Yes, but I don't know how, so no."

"I see," she glances at me and I feel magic occur, too swiftly for me to react and it's over.

"What was that?" I'm panicked and frightened.

"Forgive me. I say again, I will not harm you. Now, sister, answer me this honestly... Or don't. It's one to me, but think on your answer: what manner of sorceress are you?"

I do think on my answer a good long time, and when I reply, it is honest, "A very, very poor one."

"Oh?"

"My magic is very rudimentary. I can... change things, here and there, or stop them from changing, I can sense magic and feel spells, but real spells, performing them, making them is beyond my understanding."

"Ah. Why is this?"

"Honestly?"

"Yes, if that is your way."

"It's too difficult. I can't make a spell up in my mind and hold it there together long enough to make it work."

"Yes. Trying to do that would make you a poor sorceress indeed."

"Trying to do what? How else can I..."

Salmacis raises her voice, including the centaurs in what she says, "For using my road I levy neither toll nor charge. If the river is your destination then you will not reach it before dark, but you are welcome to Salmacis' hospitality tonight."

Now her voice is soft again, speaking to me, "I should like you all to take up my invitation, for I much desire to speak with you. I can teach you many things, little sister, but unlike my road, my knowledge has a price."

With some fear, but also real desire for that knowledge I ask her, "What is that price."

"It has been many years since Salmacis had a woman's company, and her home here sates all hungers and thirsts but one."

"I... er... I should talk it over with my companions."

"Do so, we are some way yet from my home. I will go no farther than that tonight, you may do as you will."

My mind rapidly working I slow my pace until I fall level with the centaurs some way back.

"She wants us to stay with her tonight."

"So she says," says Eupraxia.

"So did Lecto," Clytemnestra points out, very reasonably. Very, very reasonably.

"I don't think she means to hurt us... She could have done so already, if she'd wanted to. Lecto didn't know we were there until we pitched up on her doorstep. Salmacis knew we were here from the moment I examined that stone."

Eupraxia asks us, "Who is Lecto?"

"'Who was Lecto', you mean," Clytemnestra shakes her head ruefully, "A sorceress, abiding alone in the woods. We encountered her and she meant us ill. Dead now and well served."

"She, Salmacis, she said she could teach me things."

"I dare say she could, lady, but don't let that possibility blind you to other less wholesome designs she may have too."

"What does your heart tell you?"

"Ah, there's the question, no? By my nature I am inclined to trust all who have not shown themselves untrustworthy, yet, also I do beware sorceresses."

At this moment, Aristomache, who has been silent throughout takes a few swift strides forward until almost alongside Salmacis and calls out to her.

"Sorceress, have you ever heard the name of Zenaida?"

"And if I have?"

"Tell me of her."

"She was considered a great poet, and a sublime beauty, after the manner of your kind. A great favourite of the previous Grand Master of Zoa, who heaped every kind of favour upon her. Every kind of favour... Yes."

"Did you know her?"

"I did, for my part, once. Since you ask of her, and are in form very much like her I shall say you are her kin? Daughter, I think?"

"I am that. And you, Salmacis, you are the sorceress who served Grand Master Phoebe."

"I am she."

The rest of us, of course can only look on in wonder as we listen.

"Does this knowledge make you more or less inclined to trust Salmacis, oh travellers?"

"That may depend," Clytemnestra replies, "On how the court magician of Zoa came to be living alone in the jungle?"

"You risk much by asking. Perhaps it is a thing that might rouse my anger? Perhaps once, but time dulls the edge. Suffice it to say, Grand Master Kallisto is not one tenth the woman her mother was. So inferior a ruler as she does not deserve Salmacis' service."

"Why do you say that?"

"Ask no more else I shall become angry, daughter-of-Zenaida. Your mother once earned my respect, to her daughter I owe nothing."

There's not much Aristomache seems able to say to that and she falls back to walk with the rest of us. She does seem to want to trust Salmacis' benign intentions though, and so do I, for whatever reason. So it is that when, after almost two hour's walking, Salmacis says we are at her home, we all of us elect to accept her hospitality, whatever that may be, and go no farther tonight.

"We can't get up there," Clytemnestra points out, obviously.

She is putting it mildly. Salmacis home is well over fifty feet above even Aristomache's head, suspended upon the trunks of three almighty trees. Tree house is to give only the meanest of names! Tree mansion, tree palace? Perhaps? A great number of structures, walkways, balconies and mezzanines are visible clinging to the three trees, all hung with bright, multi-coloured lanterns and speckled with growing flowers. Salmacis smiles, obviously proud of her home and enjoying my look of awe -- a look shared only ambivalently by the centaurs.

"I invited you to partake of my hospitality, but not of my home," she clarifies, and then looks directly at me, "Unless you wish to learn what I have to teach."

I swallow hard, and look at Clytemnestra, and at my other two companions before turning back to Salmacis.

"I do," I say, nervous and excited, "If that's okay?" I address that to Clytemnestra.

"You need my permission for nothing, lady. Do as you will with my blessing."

Salmacis looks up at her home and instantly a long, snaking rope ladder falls at her feet, stretching all the way up, she begins to climb and, though she hasn't told me to, I follow. It's a hard, tricky climb. The ladder wobbles all over the place and a long, slightly billowy red silk skirt isn't the ideal attire for climbing it.

With little grace and much slowness I reach the top and haul myself vertiginously over the parapet. Salmacis is already within her home and I follow. It's a wondrous place. All wooden floors draped with skins and carpets, the walls are wood, or sometimes leather stretched tautly between stout staves. Some parts seem built, others excavated from the living wood and some parts of her home seem in form to have been grown from the trees themselves. There are obviously magical lights scattered all about, not physical objects but little floating points of light which make my skin tingle deliciously.

Salmacis ushers me deeper into the slightly labyrinthine structure. She has a sextet of large, silver amphorae and holds one out to me until I take it. It's quite empty but when Salmacis touches it again, I feel a significant swell of magic and suddenly the amphora is so heavy in my hands, sloshing with splashing, laughing water. Another touch of the vessel, another sense of magic and the liquid within is dark and aromatic and clearly wine.

"This is but a taste of the things I could teach you, sister. All I ask in return is your company for a night, or two."

"Why?"

She gives me a strange look, as though that's not the answer she expected, "Is it so wrong for one who has lived alone these long years to crave the company of her own kind?"

"No... I meant, why are you willing to teach me? Most people, most sorcerers guard their knowledge quite jealously."

"And Salmacis does not? Do not mistake me, I am offering you no great secrets, nothing I pass to you will see you unmaking armies and conquering cities. If Salmacis knows such magics, and perhaps she may, she keeps them for herself," she laughs quietly, "But I'd not have you go on calling yourself a sorceress, and my sister, and not knowing the meanest crafts which should go with that title."

"Then I gratefully accept."

"Good," she fills each of the remaining amphorae, one after the other with clear water and turns each to wine, "Now take these to your companions and tell them that they may shoot Salmacis game, if they wish, and drink her wine, but that they shall not see you or her for a day and a night."

So I do, though it presents me a problem. I cannot imagine how I might descend that twisting, swaying ladder with just one of these heavy amphorae, let alone six and I stand at the top for long minutes trying to puzzle it out until the obvious solution strikes me. Just as I did once before when escaping from Lady Kanna's house I dial my mass way way down and step lightly from the balcony, floating gently down to the ground, much to the awe of Eupraxia and Aristomache.

I tell them what I've been bidden to say, and I apologise for leaving them out here on the ground, for which I genuinely do feel bad. I feel even worse, in fact, when all three of them are magnanimous and do not begrudge me at all. Especially Clytemnestra, who I think suspects that we aren't only going to be playing at magic tricks up there.

Still, they're no worse off than they would have been had we not met Salmacis. Very much better in fact, given that a sufficient quantity of wine will win over almost any centaur. Clytemnestra gives me a lusty kiss goodbye, and a hard grope before sending me on my way. Mmmmm.

Salmacis is waiting for me when I clamber again to the top of that horrible ladder, she's shed her cloak and her tall leather boots and is smiling a pretty, eager smile. She's a peach! Sprightly, lithe as anything with excited, golden eyes and a face made for laughing and loving.

"I'm ready," I say, as she motions me within, following on herself directly, "Ready to learn everything you will teach me."

"Patience, little sister, be patient for your prize as I have been for mine... Come morning I will keep my promise, but the night is for lovers, and for love."

I wonder how old she really is, obviously more than she looks, much much more if she was already an adult, and a powerful sorceress in the time of Aristomache's mother. I wonder if she will teach me the magics to stay young.

Her arm snakes around my hips, her body is pressed against mine and she guides me, steers me through the winding wooden corridors and over the narrow bridges of her home. Now we are climbing a long staircase -- a staircase so obviously grown, not carven or built - which spirals all about the trunk of the greatest tree, up and on up until we come at last to the highest point of Salmacis' home. It is a great oval platform girt about with a low balustrade and scattered all over with furs and silks and cushions.

So high are we, so tall is this one tree that we are well above the canopy of the jungle and our view is unobstructed all the way from the mountains to the lake and to Zoa itself. Overhead tiny points of magical light twinkle amongst the foliage like the stars which are now coming out in the bottomless purple-black sky. Wind chimes softly tingle-tangle here and there about our perch and nocturnal birds sing back at them.

Salmacis bids me sit, recline in fact, with her amid the disarrayed furs and silks and rich velvet and satin cushions. There is nothing rustic about the way she lives. Nothing rustic about the rich, soft materials on which we recline, nor anything but fancy finery about us, nor anything wanting from the silver platter of ripe, fresh fruits, tempting meat and bread and dainties, nor the stemmed glasses from which we drink, nor the cut crystal decanter from which she pours fragrant wine, so dark as to be black under the twinkling magical stars.

We recline, facing one another, each of us propped up on her elbow, supported by cushions and dining as we please from the single platter. It is by far and away the best meal I've eaten in months. There are fat little olives in spiced oil, and pheasant and rabbit and rich white bread still warm enough to melt the fresh butter, oh, and dates, which I love very much. I suspect my enthusiasm shows.

"Salmacis hospitality is to her sister's liking?"

"I... I've, that is to say, we've been on the road a long time. Where does it all come from?"

"I told you, my home satisfies its mistress."

"Milk? Olives? Dates? The jungle provides them?"

"Some things I create myself, some, the jungle provides me, some are given me in tribute."

"Tribute?"

"Grand Master," she puts such scorn into the title, spitting out like poison, "Kallisto may not be worthy of Salmacis' power, but there remain some in Zoa who remember who she is. Some come seeking some boon, some try to buy my favour, else willingly give me gifts in thanks for the path you followed today."