Hega gave an irritated sigh, but she left the twist in the weave that Eugenides had made. “But no red,” she grumbled. “That comes later.”
Periphys moved lightly, the leaves dipping at her passing, the occasional spent blossom falling in her wake. She had a specific objective and wandered a little less than usual on her way.
“Sister,” she called as she alighted on a terrace overlooking the lower slopes of the Sacred Mountain. “Stop your drizzle, please,” said Periphys, unmantling her hair. “I’m all wet from coming up the valley.”
Alyta had been soothed by the sound of water dripping from the branches of the conifers that surrounded her home, but she took pleasure in pleasing others; the pattering of droplets eased, and Periphys blew the clouds away. She sat beside Alyta in the weak sunlight.
“You must have heard us calling. So what keeps you home while we are missing you?”
“I did not hear,” Alyta said. “I’m sorry. I was lost in my thoughts.”
“Thinking what?” probed Periphys, a penetrating if not powerful wind.
“I was wondering if lovers are more trouble than they’re worth,” said Alyta.
“Cello is,” Periphys answered promptly.
“Cello is my favorite,” Alyta reminded her. “I love him best.”
“Then he should be happy with that,” grumbled Periphys, “and not strive so hard to keep you all for himself.”
“You’re jealous,” said Alyta gently.
“He’s greedy,” said Periphys pettishly.
Alyta didn’t argue that. “But a little greediness in one’s lover is not a terrible thing,” she said. “Not when it gives me pleasure to indulge it.”
“Maybe not,” said Periphys. “But I see something is the matter. So tell your sister what it is, and I will see if I can help.”
Alyta had had many lovers and many children, but had settled on Cello, one of the mountains and the son of the Earth and Sky, as her husband. He had begged her to belong only to him, and she had agreed.
Cello had a friend, Ente, son of the goddess of discord. Angry at losing Cello to his new love, he was determined to ruin their marriage. With that in mind, he had stolen Alyta’s earring, one of a set that Cello had given her.
“Ente will wear it,” Alyta explained. “And Cello will assume I gave it to him and think I am still taking lovers in spite of my promise.”
“Tell him otherwise. Before he even sees Ente.”
“I’m sure I could,” said Alyta thoughtfully, “but perhaps he would be hurt that I would think he could be so easily deceived.”
“Then tell him after he sees Ente.”
“But if he is deceived, I might be the one hurt.”
“Then he doesn’t deserve you,” Periphys pointed out.
“But I like him too much to let him go,” said Alyta, not disagreeing with her sister, just pointing out other factors to consider. “And I do not see why I or Cello should suffer for something that is Ente’s fault.”
“Well, if Cello finds out that Ente has lied, it’s Ente who will suffer,” said Periphys. “He risks all of Cello’s love because he will not share any of it.” Privately, she thought Ente and Cello rather deserved each other, but she’d never liked Cello. His mountainous form seemed so often to be in her way.
“Ente is too clever to lie outright,” said Alyta. “If he’s caught, he will only say he found the earring in the woods and meant nothing by wearing it.”
“Then you will have to get the earring back,” said Periphys. “And you know who will help.”
In the tavern, Gen sat drumming his heels on the side of the bench seat underneath him. The dirt floor was uneven, eroded under the table by sweeping, and his feet didn’t reach the ground.
His grandfather frowned at the noise and Gen stopped, his shoulders drooping. The tavern was no more than a shed tacked onto the side of a stable, with a bar that ran its length and, across a narrow aisle, a few booths lined up against the outside wall. The food and drink were no reason to visit. The bread on a plate in front of Gen was filled with grit and the wine was sour, but the tavern keeper chatted with the men at the bar, relaying news from distant places, and that was what they’d come for. Gen had knocked his feet against the wood partly in frustration, partly in defeat. More noise would make no difference. He couldn’t hear.
Or rather, all he could hear was the men sitting in the booth behind him. They were telling coarse jokes and laughing about something they’d done that they thought very amusing, and they were loud enough to cover all the more important conversation at the bar.
He gathered they’d been sent by their master to steal something from a woman who had rebuffed his advances. Their master meant to wear the earring they’d stolen and pretend the woman, Alyta, had given it to him. The man would have it in his ear, and when Alyta’s husband saw it, he would think the man was his wife’s lover and be enraged. Drunk and cruel, the men were laughing at the harm their master intended.
Gen felt sorry for the woman. He caught his grandfather’s eye and nodded at the men, but the old man shook his head. It was not their business. Their business was the news from Kathodicia. He’d taken the seat opposite Gen so that he could see the faces of the men talking to the tavern keeper and understand their words better. Gen knew he should have picked that side of the table as well and that his grandfather would tell him off for his mistake later.
Still, it was easy, as they rose to leave, to take the earring, lying temptingly close inside the coat pocket of one of the men. None of them noticed, but of course his grandfather did. Once they were outside, he seized Gen by the arm and shook him hard.
“When he sticks his hand in that pocket and finds that earring gone, who will they blame?” he asked. “The tavern keeper on the other side of the bar? The men who stood with their backs to the booths? No. They will blame the strangers sitting behind them, the ones who walked right past the coat hanging on a hook.”
He was angry because the men were very likely to chase them and because they’d be remembered as thieves if they came back to that tavern anytime soon.
“And for nothing,” Gen’s grandfather told him. “Alyta, whoever she is, will not have her earring back, and when her husband notices, he will still think she’s given it to her lover.”
Gen hadn’t thought of that.
“Get yourself into the woods. I will steal one of the horses and pick you up. We cannot afford to linger here.”
They rode hard, and Gen’s teeth rattled in his head as he held on tight to his grandfather’s coat. When they finally slowed to rest the horse, Gen pulled out the earring to look at it. It was surpassingly beautiful. A tiny lapis urn hung on three golden chains from a solid gold ring. It held sprays of miniature flowers, with blossoms made of seed pearls and leaves enameled in yellow and green. The patterning on the urn was so delicate that even Gen’s young eyes had difficulty making it out.
“Let me see it,” said his grandfather.
Reluctantly, Gen held out his palm.
His grandfather shook his head.
“You can’t keep it.”
Gen was truculent.
“We steal in the service of our god and in the service of our king. To do otherwise is common theft and as wrong in you as it is in any man.”