Before I had a chance to speak, they embraced me. I closed my eyes and breathed them in deeply – my father always smelled of woodsmoke and leather, my mother of medicinal herbs. When they released me, Alkaios laid a hand of blessing upon my head.
‘May victory be yours, daughter,’ he said.
I could only nod, not trusting myself to speak.
To my surprise, a crowd was waiting for me on the palacesteps. There were men young and old, curious children, and even a few women veiled modestly against the eyes of the crowd. As I stepped out into the courtyard, their eyes turned on me expectantly. I raised my hand in greeting and they erupted into cheers.
The crowd followed me as I journeyed on, through the gates of the city and across the empty plains of Tiryns. At last, I came to the place where the hills rose out of the flat earth, giving way to forested hills. I drew closer to a single ragged peak that pierced the sky like the bones of Gaia splitting the earth. I had passed by this place during my travels with Atalanta, but she had always made a point to avoid it, saying there was no game to be found near such a barren place. Palace gossip told even darker legends: it was said that old women sacrificed puppies to the goddess Hekate there on the nights of the new moon, and lovesick maidens occasionally threw themselves from its peak. This was where the monster would meet me, where I would make my final stand.
Well, I was neither a puppy nor a lovesick maiden. I strode forward to meet my destiny.
The path was narrow and rocky, and I skidded backwards on pebbles more than once as I made the ascent. The heat of the sun rested on me like a blanket of molten gold. The wind rattled the arrows in my quiver and whipped my hair around my face. Most of the townsfolk who had followed me this far faltered back, I was disappointed to see. When I finally reached the cliff’s edge, I braced myself for the first sight of my enemy. Would it be a gorgon with writhing snakes for hair, or a great sphinx with a lion’s body?
Instead, I was greeted only by emptiness. Wind blew up from the drop below, whisking across my face. There was no sign of a monster.
I looked back towards the scattered observers who waited behind me, suddenly feeling self-conscious. What story would they tell of this day, when the princess Psyche was spurned by a monster?
I unsheathed my sword and sent my voice ringing. ‘I am Psyche of Mycenae, and I have come in answer to your challenge!’
Distant echoes of my voice were the only response. I lowered my sword, feeling the heat rise to my cheeks.
A gust of wind ruffled my clothing, then became a gale. It whipped my hair and tugged at my garments, then grew fiercer still. It tore the sword from my hand, flinging it end over end. A sudden weightlessness seized me as I felt my feet rise from the earth. The wind tumbled me through the air like a stone in the surf. When I righted myself, I saw the shocked faces of the onlookers shrinking to pinpoints as the earth fell away below me.
A scream rose in my throat, but I bit it back; screaming wouldn’t do me any good. I struggled to assess my situation. No talons gripped my flesh, no teeth pierced my armour. I was simply floating, as if through water. No monster that I knew of could cause such a thing, but I concentrated on fishing my knife out of my boot just in case.
‘Stop wriggling around. It makes it much harder to carry you.’
The voice seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere all at once. It was male, lilting, but filled with irritation. I whipped my head around, desperately seeking its source.
‘Who are you?’ I demanded. ‘Who sent you?’
There was no response, only empty air and silence. All I could do was marvel as the coastline sped past beneath me. Above, plush clouds dappled the blue horizon like a herd of sheep in ameadow. Gooseflesh prickled across my skin from the stinging cold, but my exhilaration warmed me. I watched as entire villages flashed by below my feet, tiny as the civilizations of insects. To my left, sunlight glittered like stars across an endless sheet of water. Awe filled me; even if these were to be my last moments, at least I would die seeing things no mortal eye ever had.
After what felt like hours but was only a few minutes, I found myself sinking towards the earth. My heart pounded, and I braced myself for a painful fall, but to my surprise my feet were placed upon the ground gently. I was standing on a shale-covered beach, tumbled by the sea.
Then the bodiless voice spoke once more. ‘Go to the one who awaits you,’ it said. ‘He will arrive at nightfall.’
I had no idea where I was, save that it was very far from Mycenae. I looked up towards the cliffs and saw a dwelling above me. The curved terraces seemed almost like natural formations protruding from the stone, but their perfection suggested they had been made by a conscious intelligence rather than natural forces. Soaring verandas overlooking the sea melted into the cliff’s edge, and perfectly square windows were cut directly into the pale rock. It was as if the house had been carved directly from the cliffside, just as seawater chisels caves and inlets along the shore.
Where had I found myself? What sort of hands made such a place? I shivered and reached for my sword before I remembered it was gone.
A stairway led up to the distant abode, the steps cut into rock worn smooth by long ages.
Go to the one who awaits you, the mysterious voice had said. I didn’t have much of a choice; there was nowhere else to go. Not knowing whether to expect a monster or a miracle, I began my ascent.
The climb was steep and long, and the midday sun bore down until rivulets of sweat dripped into my eyes. I flicked them away with the back of my hand. This journey was interminable, I groused to myself. Whoever lived here must have wings.
When I reached the top, I passed through a courtyard lined with potted plants in full flower, and a trill at my elbow made me jump. I turned to see a beautiful blue-green peacock staring at me before turning to peck at seeds on the ground. A long, magnificent tail dragged behind the bird, each of the patterned eyes glinting in the sun. More peacocks wandered the courtyard, and I wondered if they were a clue to the identity of the owner of this strange house. Peacocks were sacred to the goddess Hera, but as far as I knew she dwelled on Mount Olympus with her inconstant husband, not here on a desolate beach.
At last, I reached the entrance to this grand, mysterious house – a heavy oak door reinforced with iron and set into the rock. I tested the door, but it remained firmly locked. The noonday sun was relentless, burning my skin and drying my parched throat. I needed shelter, there was no way around it. I knocked in the door with a firm kick, splintering the portion that anchored the lock. This was a breach ofxenia, the sacred laws of guest-friendship, but I hoped the inhabitants of this peculiar house would understand.
Once my eyes adjusted to the dimness, I peered into the depths of the house and was greeted by the sight of a tabby cat lounging in a plush chair. He mewed in inquiry at the sight of me, leaping from his perch to twine around my legs, purring like a hive of happy bees. I reached down to scratch his head, feeling oddly reassured. A cat so friendly must be accustomed to peace and safety. Perhaps this was the home of some kindly hermit or a cloistered mystic.
I continued my exploration, marvelling at the beauty of theplace. The whitewashed walls rose up around me, curving into a domed ceiling like the belly of some enormous creature. As I passed through an arched doorway, I let my hand skim across the frame; the stone was smooth as a child’s cheek, unblemished by a single mark from a carver’s tools. I could see other rooms spread out through the interior of the cliffside like a rhizome. To my right were wide windows cut into the stone, open to catch the breezes. Higher up were squares of coloured glass set high into the rock, lighting up the interior of the cave-house with magnificent spills of blue and red and yellow.
One might imagine that a house carved into a sea cliff would be damp and musty, but this one was bright and cosy, smelling of fresh salt air and the faint scent of roses on the terraces outside. My feet whispered across carpets of stunning quality, woven with vibrant patterns I had never seen before. Not a single snarl or stain marred their perfection.
I saw no sign of the resident of this place. No clothing had been hung out to dry, no discarded plates waited to be washed. I passed a room with a long wooden table, the chairs drawn neatly around it, set before a large window overlooking the cerulean water. In another room, darker with no windows, I found a large bed made up with fresh linen sheets. In the next room I found a freshly drawn bath; steam wafted from its surface, where newly-plucked rose petals floated.
