Steven Saylor - Wrath of the Furies

I had the advantage of the light, which illuminated the crowd before me. The people farthest away faded into the encroaching darkness, but at the back of the group I could clearly see the towering figure of Bastarna. Much closer, at the foot of the altar, stood the king and queen, with Philopoemen to one side of them and Prince Ptolemy to the other. Their faces expressed surprise and alarm.

I moved my lips but did not speak. The voice came from elsewhere.

“Who summons Alecto? Who calls upon Megaera? Who invokes Tisiphone?”

From the corner of my eye I saw the Grand Magus squinting up at me. He suddenly started back, as if touched by something hot. Across from him, Gnossipus clutched at Damianus-the one person in the grove who could not hear the uncanny voice. The deaf man alone was immune to the wave of uneasiness that passed though the group. As one sees a gust of wind set tall grass to shivering, so I perceived this growing distress in those before me.

“It is the King of Kings who calls upon you,” said Kysanias, with a tremor in his voice. He sounded genuinely fearful. He held up the ritual knife and ax. “He offers this sacrifice.”

Again the uncanny voice spoke, seeming to come from my lips. “The thing you seek cannot be given! The blessing you beg for can only be a curse! No man should summon what no man can control!”

One of the torches, already burning low, suddenly went out. Then another torch went out, and another. The grove grew darker and darker.

Someone in the group cried out, as if he had been stabbed or bitten. Another man screamed. These cries came from Rutilius and Zeuxidemus, doing what they could to spread panic in the others.

“What’s that?” cried the Grand Magus. “There, in the trees!”

One of the towering cypress trees had begun to shake, hard enough to break twigs and small branches. Then the tree next to it shivered, and then the next, as if some unseen, unearthly force was at work in the Grove of the Furies, moving from tree to tree. The shivering, crackling trees produced an eerie sound, as if ghastly beings hissed and groaned.

Another torch went out. There were more cries of panic.

“Why is it so dark?” shouted Mithridates, his voice breaking. He clenched his fists and looked over his shoulder. More than ever, Monime’s pale face and coppery hair seemed to levitate, disembodied. Her eyebrows were raised above staring eyes and her mouth was open in a perfect circle. Next to her, Prince Ptolemy looked strangely thrilled by the mounting confusion.

I concentrated on my task, for the uncanny voice had more to say-cryptic prophecies of unending punishment, hissing threats of unearthly torment. The uproar of the group rose to such a pitch that Antipater’s voice was almost drowned out. The trees around us continued to shudder and sway.

“I see them, in the trees!” cried the Grand Magus. He no longer squinted but gazed up in awe. What did he think he saw with those wide-open, nearsighted eyes of his?

“I see them, too!” yelled someone in the crowd. It sounded like Rutilius.

“It’s the Furies! They’re here!” This was Zeuxidemus, who then produced a blood-curdling scream.

At that moment, by pure chance, something actually did flitter above our heads. I think it was a bat. Mithridates must have glimpsed it, for he suddenly ducked and pulled Monime close to him, clutching her tightly. In that instant I saw what very few-perhaps no one-had ever seen: a look of utter panic on the face of Mithridates.

“I see their eyes, in the trees! I see their wings!” This cry, surprisingly high-pitched and with a strange accent, came from Bastarna. By the light of one of the few remaining torches, I could see the giant’s face. His expression was one of sheer terror. He had shortened the chain held in his fist, doubling it over several times as if to make it into a weapon. Quintus Oppius was forced to stand on tiptoes, clutching at the iron collar around his neck. His tongue was out and his face was dark red.

Bastarna stiffened. He shut his eyes and whimpered-then screamed like a little girl.

The squealing giant looked so ridiculous, I couldn’t help myself. I laughed.

Even as I helplessly laughed I felt a quiver of panic, thinking I had ruined everything. But because I tried to stifle it, the laugh came out as a blubbering bark. The sound was so bizarre, so horrifically out of place, it must have seemed yet another manifestation of the uncanny voice, for it caught the attention of everyone in the grove. They flinched at the sound, and grimaced, and stared at me, aghast.

Antipater gave me another poke. “Darkness comes!” cried the uncanny voice, while I mouthed the words. “We bring upon you darkness and death and destruction!”

Only two torches still burned. They sputtered and went out.

“Everyone will be staring at one of those torches, craving the light,” Kysanias had predicted. “Their eyes will be dazzled, so that when the torches go out they’ll be as blind as Gnossipus. Close your eyes for a moment, Gordianus, so that when you open them, you’ll be able to see by starlight.”

There was a sharp cracking noise. Severed near its base, one of the trees directly behind Kysanias swayed and then began to fall into the circle, toppling toward the altar in the center. Kysanias grabbed the Grand Magus and shoved him out of the way. Damianus did the same for Gnossipus, who cried out in confusion.

Below me, Freny could see the dark silhouette of the towering tree falling straight toward her. She screamed into her gag and writhed wildly from side to side.

This was the most critical moment. My instinct was to run from the falling tree, but if I were to save Freny, this was the only chance.

I stepped off the wooden platform. The altar, carved from a single block of marble, was also hollow. When I kicked aside the platform on which I had been standing, a door was revealed. The door opened to an empty compartment within the altar. This space, Kysanias had explained, was now used only for the storage of sacrificial utensils, but it had originally been intended for hiding the animal to be sacrificed, which could thus, under the right circumstances of darkness and distraction, be produced as if from nowhere-a typical example of the chicanery used by priests to awe their congregants.

With all my strength I took hold of Freny’s shoulders and pulled her toward me, off the altar and into my arms. Holding her tightly, I fell to my knees and scrambled inside the hidden chamber.

As soon as we were inside, the door was closed behind us, and the concealing platform was pushed back in place by Kysanias. We were in absolute darkness.

There was a tremendous crash as the midsection of the tree struck the altar and splintered into pieces. The altar lurched as if there had been an earthquake, but the marble did not crack.

Freny struggled against her bonds and squealed into the gag.

“Quiet!” I whispered in her ear. “Trust me, Freny.”

She grew still, but her body remained stiff and wary in my arms, like a frightened bird.

Only vaguely could I hear any noises from outside. It was impossible to know what was being said or done.

My work was finished. I had only to lie very still, keep Freny quiet, and wait until one of the others came for us.

Unless the enraged Furies came for us first.

In that dark, tomblike chamber, Freny and I lay side by side for what seemed to be hours.

For a while I heard muffled, indistinct noises from outside. Then the noises stopped, and there was only silence.

Eventually I dared to speak, but only in a whisper. I explained to her what had happened, and what I hoped would happen next. We would have to be patient. If we were to push open the door, and someone should see us, all would be lost. We had to wait until one of the others came for us.