“Persephone ate six pomegranate seeds,” said the Demeter-priestess. “Therefore, the Father of Mankind, in his infinite wisdom, decreed she would remain on Olympus with her mother for six months of the year. During this joyous time Demeter blesses the earth with life and abundance. But for the remaining six months, Persephone must live in the Underworld, with Hades. During these terrible months the earth grows cold and withers with Demeter’s grief.”
The crowd bowed their heads in recognition of the Harvest Goddess’s suffering.
“Tonight, women of Naxos, we give praise to she who blesses this fertile land. Praise to she who guards our crops from pestilence. Praise to she who provides for us, so we may bloom and our children may flourish. Demeter, we pray you continue to watch over us all here tonight, our families at home and those who have joined the Missing. We pray, one day, they will return to us.”
The Missing were the people who disappeared. It had been happening ever since anyone could remember. Every so often someone would just vanish. The average on Naxos was around five people a year. On the mainland it was far more. Even the priestesses couldn’t explain it. Despite beseeching Demeter every year to bring back the Missing, so far no one had ever returned.
“Demeter watch over us,” the crowd murmured.
Two temple hands walked forward, guiding a large pig toward the altar. This was the part Danae liked the least. The drums returned, slow and steady.
The priestesses smoothed the beast’s back, cooing as they held it still in front of the altar. Another temple hand ran forward and dropped to one knee, a long silver blade balanced on his upturned palms. The Demeter-priestess curled her fingers around the knife and raised it high above her head.
A reflected sliver of moonlight slashed through the air. The drumming reached a crescendo as the animal squealed. Blood splattered the priestess. She sliced open the animal’s belly and reached into the incision. Tugging out the intestines, she held them up to the moonlight. The organs glistened as she ran them through her fingers, inspecting every single segment.
The crowd was so quiet, not a breath could be heard.
The priestess dropped the offal into a bronze bowl beneath the altar and turned to face the women of Naxos.
“The omens have spoken. Demeter sees all, hears all, knows all. She has looked into your hearts, and she has found you wanting.”
There were gasps. Someone cried out, “But we’ve given everything we have!”
“Your offerings are not enough,” the priestess continued. “Someone amongst you has kept back what should have been given to Demeter. Someone thought they could lie to the goddess.”
A few of the younger girls began to cry. Danae’s fingers tightened around her sister’s hand. Her mother wrapped her arms around them both so firmly her nails dug into Danae’s skin.
The priestess lifted one painted palm to travel over the crowd, while with the other hand she drew a smear of blood down her forehead. Danae’s ribs tightened around her lungs as that hand drew closer. Then stopped.
The priestess made her choice and pointed.
“No!”
Melia clung to her daughters as the priestess’s gaze settled on her youngest girl.
The temple hands barged through the crowd. The blacksmith’s wife sobbed, refusing to relinquish her daughter as they tried to pull her away.
A shriek ruptured the air. Startled, Danae looked around, but all she could see was her own confusion mirrored in the faces around her.
They appeared from nowhere, clambering out of bushes and leaping from behind trees, their hair tangled with twigs and bracken. At least twenty women, all completely naked.
They were the Maenads, the followers of Dionysus, God of Wine and Pleasure. Women who’d forsaken their families to live wild in the forests. They were said to give their minds over entirely to their god, drinking so deeply of his wine they fell into an ecstatic trance and performed frenzied dances to please his salacious will. It was even rumored that during one of their rituals, they tore a baby limb from limb with their bare hands.
Like wolves amongst a flock of goats the Maenads scattered the crowd, their laughter echoing through the garden. Statues were overturned, flower beds trampled and two Maenads even clambered onto the altar and stuffed offerings into their mouths. They only managed to devour a few fistfuls before the temple hands dragged them away, but the damage was done. Demeter would be furious.
Eleni grabbed hold of Danae’s and Alea’s hands.
“Don’t let go of me, girls.”
She bundled them toward the floral pathway, but panic had infected the crowd and they were battered by frightened women, tripping over each other in their attempts to flee.
Melia hurtled past with her daughters, having freed the youngest from the temple hands, and barged into Danae with such force she was thrown to the ground. A stampede of legs trampled her. She needed to get back to her mother and sister, but the onslaught of bodies kept her pinned down. She raised her arms over her head and curled up to protect herself. Then someone grabbed hold of her and dragged her out of the crushing mob. She was helped to her feet and found herself looking into the face of one of the Maenads.
Her skin tightened, the breath imprisoned in her chest, as she waited for the woman to strike.
The Maenad’s eyes rounded with concern. “Are you hurt?”
Danae opened her mouth but was too stunned to speak. She shook her head.
