Her mother’s cries were drowned out as the river enveloped her. The current threatened to bear her downstream, but she struck out, her limbs strong from years of battling sea tides. She knew her mother couldn’t follow her. Eleni had never learned to swim.
By the time she reached the far side, the Maenads had vanished into the trees. She grasped fistfuls of grass and heaved herself out of the water. Catching sight of a trail of wet footprints in the earth, she ran after them.
As she tracked them through the woodland, it occurred to her how dangerous this was. The Maenads were wild, capable of anything. She ground the fear between her teeth. These women must have taken her sister from the Thesmophoria, it was the only explanation. They probably dragged Alea through the woods, then left her to be preyed upon by the first man that found her. Danae didn’t care how dangerous they were, she would kill them, all of them, with her bare hands.
Then she thought of the woman who’d helped her at the festival, recalled the genuine concern in her eyes. The flame of her rage sputtered out. She shivered in the shade of the trees as her wet tunic clung to her body and suddenly realized that she had no idea where she was.
Then something hit her in the back.
She twisted to see an apple roll across the ground behind her. Then another smacked her in the shoulder. She spun around.
Laughter pinged between the trees. She couldn’t tell which direction it was coming from.
“Come out, you cowards.”
“Come out, you cowards.”
This was a game to them. Her anger flared again. “I know you took my sister the night of the Thesmophoria. I know it was you.”
The laughter stopped.
The Maenad who’d saved her stepped out from behind the trees. Danae was disarmed by her nakedness, the dark tuft between her legs, the way her wet hair slicked over her full breasts and the round curve of her stomach. She dragged her gaze upward and clenched her jaw.
The woman’s eyes were deep and serious. From the lines around them, Danae realized the Maenad was older than she first thought.
“We do not kidnap women.”
Danae took a step back and stumbled on one of the apples. “I don’t believe you. I know what you Maenads do. I saw you at the festival.”
“You saw us dancing. We disrupted your ritual, but we did not harm anyone. I helped you, remember?”
“But...” Danae couldn’t argue. Then she recalled what had happened to Melia’s daughters. “An extra girl was sacrificed because of you.” She couldn’t hide the tremor in her voice. “You brought the wrath of Demeter down on us.”
The woman’s eyes swelled with sadness. “I am sorry to hear that. It is a terrible demand for a god to make.”
Danae stared at her. How could she utter such blasphemy?
The other Maenad emerged from the trees. She was younger than the first, her curly hair dripping onto her sun-rouged shoulders.
“We didn’t take her, but there is one who might know what happened to your sister.”
Danae’s heart lurched. “Who?”
The Maenads glanced at each other.
“Come with us.” The first woman stretched out a hand.
Danae hesitated. Her mother would be frantic on the other side of the river. She should go back, tell her she was safe, but she doubted the women would wait for her to return.
Swallowing her guilt, she took the Maenad’s hand.
The Maenads’ encampment was chaos.
A grove of wild fruit trees was scattered over the hillside and the air was sweet with the scent of apples, figs and pomegranates. The trees were all mixed together as if someone had muddled their seeds and thrown handfuls in the air, leaving their fate to the wind. Vines too were tangled around the branches of the mature fruit trees, kissing their bows with indigo clusters of grapes.
There were Maenads everywhere. Women old and young, all naked, some balancing baskets on their hips as they harvested the fruit. Animals and children ran about their feet, chickens squawked and goats nibbled on low-hanging fruit.
Beyond the grove was a ramshackle structure. It looked as though it had once been a large house that over the years had spawned additional extremities and was now a rambling collection of dwellings all joined together.
