Survive they did. Garden nymphs, it seemed, loved to have something to tend to. Tending a garden was their true delight, and two ailing humans—that was a project they could not resist. Alena pondered that as the glittering faces of Nala and Ensing came into view, one nymph mopping Alena’s brow, the other helping her balance.
“Is this normal?” Orpheus asked. “Are the babies coming?”
The nymphs nodded furiously. She hoped they were right. The pain was almost unbearable. She’d delivered babies before as a healer, but it was different when they were your own. Different when there were three. Fear wasn’t an option, however. Her family needed her, and losing herself to dark thoughts wouldn’t help anything.
She focused on Orpheus, the way his cheeks had rounded these past seasons on the diet of roots and berries the nymphs helped them prepare, and she wondered at his tawny arms. So strong. So true. His body had transformed into nothing but long, lean muscle since they’d been here. She thought he looked like he belonged in a garden like this, a garden of the gods. He certainly looked like a god now with his keen blue eyes and full beard. He held her up from behind as she squatted in the way the nymphs had shown her.
He’d built a cabin for her here with those arms, a small luxury to keep out the daily showers and the chill night air. And the nymphs had woven them clothing from spiderwebs, soft bark, and the wool from a herd of golden sheep that called the garden home. They’d been tempted to make those sheep dinner on more than one occasion, but both they and the golden apples were strictly forbidden. The nymphs had warned them early on. The last thing they wanted to do was alert Hera to their presence.
Another birthing pain crushed her, and Alena screamed. This time her body knew what to do. With a series of contractions that seemed to bleed into the earth, one, then two, then three tiny beings were born.
“Girls,” Orpheus said breathlessly. He tipped her back on a soft bed of moss and cradled her head. “Three sisters, Alena. They’re perfect.”
Thank the gods the nymphs knew what to do. They tended to the babies and to her as Orpheus mopped her brow and helped her bring the firstborn to her breast.
“We should call her Circe,” Orpheus said, “in honor of the goddess whose magic you carry in your blood.”
Alena nodded. “And this one will be Medea,” she said, taking the second child from Nala’s arms. The two girls had a shock of black hair and stunning lapis eyes like their father’s. The third child was handed to Orpheus to allow the first two time to nurse. She might have wailed, but instead she stared at her father with wide, knowing eyes of the darkest blue. So dark, in fact, that Alena could hardly make out the black pupil at the center.
“This one is cunning and fearless,” Orpheus said. “What shall we name her?”
Alena thought for a moment. “Isis. After the one who brought us here.”
Ensing whispered something into Orpheus’s ear, the nymph’s pearlescent pink lips bending softly.
“She thinks we should name one Hera in thanks for the protection of her garden.”
Alena frowned. “Hera doesn’t know we’re here, and I doubt she would offer her protection if she did.”
Ensing lowered her gaze and looked away.
“Isis, Medea, and Circe then,” Orpheus said. “Three sisters, descendants of the sorceress Medea and the goddess Circe, conceived in Hades and born in the garden of the gods. Surely they will be blessed beyond measure.”
* * *
Many seasons later…
“Don’t tell Mother,”Medea said to her sisters, Circe and Isis. “I’m going to conjure something.”
“Conjure something? You know Mother and Father do not like us to do complex magic without their supervision.” Circe placed her hands on her hips and shook her head. “It is ill-advised. Remember that time you attempted to conjure water from the stream?”
“Water sprang from the floorboards for days,” Isis said. “I swore I never wanted to see another puddle.”
Medea scowled. How could her sisters hold that against her? She’d made the mistake before she was even fully grown. This was different. She was an adult now. All three sisters were women who had honed their individual talents through the years. She knew in her heart she could do this.
“Of course I remember,” she said. “But it was a long time ago. I realize my mistake now. I was missing a way to focus my power.” She rubbed her palms together in small circles. “Father uses his voice. I’ve never been any good at singing, but I knew there had to be something I could use in the same way.”
Isis shifted and the shadows followed, her black eyes reflecting Medea’s excitement. “Sister, are you saying you found such a way?”
Medea drew a tapered stick from the folds of her robes. “With this.”
Circe gasped. “Where did you get that? I can feel it. It pulses as if it is still alive.”
“I cut it from the tanglewood tree.”
Both Circe and Isis took a step back at that. The tanglewood tree had sprouted the day they were born from the exact spot where their mother had birthed them. The sapling had grown strong as the three of them had, the trunk splitting into three distinct sections that twisted and tangled toward the sun. The three sisters had grown up playing in its branches, and it didn’t take them long to notice that their powers grew stronger when they were near it.
Several years ago, as an act of solidarity, each of them had chosen a section and carved their names into the bark. Medea remembered well how hers had seemed to whisper to her, how her name had glowed in the bark as if the tree was lit from within. After that, it was clear each was bound to the tree just as they were bound to each other.
