The sun was rising over the horizon, and Hecate absentmindedly wiggled her fingers, red sparks of power dancing between them. She made up her mind and slid out, quietly excusing herself from the temple and slipping back into the city streets. Even at dawn, it was busy as merchants and shoppers and craftsmen started to take advantage of the light. Hecate dampened some of her appearance, ensuring that her power was quieted enough that it wouldn’t startle passersby. Hecate found herself on her way to the sea, hoping to watch the sun rise over the water.
As she passed through the alleys and went past the various market stalls being set up for the day, there was a wave of power that pulled Hecate from her mindless walk. It tasted bitter in her mouth, something acrid, something that was full of hatred but wrapped in a sunny smile.
Hera.
Hecate immediately felt power running up and down her arms, and she dispelled it quickly. She whipped her head toward the place where the power was coming from and saw a glimmer of distorted light down a side street. There was a fleeting glance of sandaled feet, and Hecate was off. Whatever was happening, she had an innate distrust of Hera, and no one in the Underworld forgot the massacre she had ordered on Nyx’s temples hundreds of years ago. If Hera was sniffing around the mortal realm again with her acolytes, then there was a reason to be concerned. Hecate’s protective instincts flared up in her chest when she thought of the women who were sleeping back in her temple, the women who trusted her. Her plans abandoned, Hecate moved swiftly down the alley to catch up with the trail of power.
As soon as she was out of sight from the main road, she muttered a quiet incantation under her breath and disappeared completely. Hecate’s goddess form was different from some of the other immortals; most of the time, she was contained in a body that could pass for mortal. But Hecate was the Goddess of ghosts and of necromancy. When she felt like it, she could dissipate like smoke on the wind, appearing as a specter or entirely invisible. She moved through the air entirely unseen and when she rounded the corner, she saw them.
Six priests were moving quickly away from her, all of them reeking of Hera’s control. Hera liked to influence her acolytes, to persuade them, to remove their free will. Hecate knew immediately that those men were moving under that power, almost blind to anything other than their goddess’s demands. It wasn’t the men that enraged her, however… It was what they were carrying. They all held a wooden staff, and tied to it was a golden ram. Hecate had never seen such a creature.
It was suspended upside down, its hooves bound tightly to the rod as it bounced with the fast-walking gait of the priests. Its wool was shining in the early morning light, now just past dawn, sending flecks of light and rainbows on the earth and armor around it. It took a moment for Hecate to even realize what she was seeing, and only then did shehearit. The ram was making a horrendous, desperate bleating noise, almost as if it was talking—or screaming. It was suspended in the air, bouncing awfully to and fro, captured between the men’s grips. Their eyes were vacant and dull, and she knew that they were not fully in control of themselves.
They turned quickly, Hecate dodging around the corners and under awnings as she followed then. The men were ineptly good at remaining out of sight. Each road or path that they took was less populated than the last. The acrid waves of Hera’s power likely gave them a large breadth as humans tended to stay away from it unconsciously.What doesn’t she want them to see?Hecate’s mind was whirring, ever the strategist and the thinker. Her soul was sharp, and her wit was sharper. Weaker men had even called her conniving. There was nothing malicious in her heart like there was in Hera’s, and whatever was happening in front of her reeked of treachery and deceit. She had never even seen a golden ram before and as she stared at it, she still had trouble reconciling what she was seeing.
Hecate’s eyes hadn’t left the ram as she pondered and watched, waiting for snippets of Hera’s plan to become clear. She realized that she had followed the priests and the ram out of Heraklion entirely. They were up in the hills now, a good mile away from the city center where they had begun their journey. Either Hecate had been distracted for longer than she realized, or Hera’s influence must have meant the acolytes were moving double-time with immortal influence.
She blinked as she emerged in the clearing they had stumbled upon, dotted with Cyprus trees. The men had stopped moving although they were still holding the ram between them. Hecate looked up and realized that there was a stone altar in the center of the clearing, stained and dark with the remnants of dried blood.
It was impossible to deny what Hera’s acolytes were planning on doing here. Whatever restraint Hecate had left snapped. Hecate—among her many titles—was a lover and goddess of animals, and while she was partial to dogs and snakes, something was ignited inside of her. There was no reason good enough for anything to die for the gods; she knew these buffoons, the air-heads, the cunning, petty spirit that resided in Hera. What good would the loss of this ram’s soul be? Hera wouldn’t, and couldn’t, do anything with that. It was simply out of spite that she demanded such things, that she would orchestrate such a monstrous display. Hecate went to war for those who could not. Whether it was women who had been put at a disadvantage by men, a position that, contrary to man’s tales, was not innate, or innocent souls like the one before her, subject to the whims of the powerful.
Hecate lived in a world where tenderness was ostracized and capitalized upon, where it was pulled like teeth from the bleeding mouths of gentler souls. That tenderness had long calcified in Hecate’s chest, but it was that sharp, wicked loss that turned her into who she was. The Goddess of ghosts. Necromancy. Women.Witchcraft.Where not a soul would be lost or sacrificed to the vain and powerful, lest she hear about it.
There was a great swirling in the skies above the priests. Dark, red clouds began to gather in a vortex directly above the altar. It was enough of a shock to shake them from their stupor and pull them from the hypnosis of Hera. They shouted in confusion when they saw the ram hung between them, dropping it to the ground. The animal bleated, startled, and attempted to scramble to its feet but could not, still tied tightly to the staff. The priests began shouting, pointing at the red clouds and crying out in confusion all while they stepped away. The clouds began spinning faster and faster, descending down to the earth in a spiral…until Hecate appeared, in full form, standing on the altar.
Her eyes glowed as red as her hair, matching the magic that ran over her skin like water. Hecate’s power began to take shape, turning into the bodies of twin snakes—sparkling, red snakes that wrapped around her arms and hissed, fangs out. The heads of the maiden and the crone appeared on her right and left shoulders, causing the priests to scream and fall to their knees. Some of them attempted to crawl backwards out of the clearing but were frozen to the spot; others covered their eyes to block the wicked vision.
“Be gone,” Hecate said simply. Her voice took on its echo effect that happened when she was in full expression of her power, making it sound like there were three people talking at once: the maiden, the mother, and the crone. Each of her mouths moved in synchronicity. The priests stumbled over one another but couldn’t look away from Hecate’s three heads. It was the curse of being a creature of such magic and divinity, wrapped up in the folds of a woman—men stared in fear but couldn’t look away.
“Be gone!” she demanded it this time, taking one step off the altar and landing on the earth. It sent a shockwave through the ground, shaking the trees. The acolytes wasted no time. They ripped themselves from staring at the goddess and ran. This time, not a single one looked back.
Hecate shook herself free of the trappings of her power in a second—the heads of the maiden and the crone disappeared as well as the snakes of red magic that covered her arms. Her eyes dimmed to their ruby color, no longer glowing in fury. She moved quickly over to the ram, her hands flying over the bindings and releasing it from its bondage. The ram jumped up to its feet in a panic, fighting with the last of the ropes as Hecate freed it. She expected the ram to turn and run, to disappear back into the wilderness. Instead, it simply turned around and stared right at Hecate.
She turned her head in surprise, studying the creature. Surely, this was some sort of gift or boon since it did truly seem that the ram had a fleece of gold. What she didn’t expect was how utterly human its gaze looked as it stared back at her, almost as if it was thanking her. What Hecatereallydidn’t expect was that when she took a few steps back and sat down on a nearby boulder, the ram followed.
It stood next to her for a few moments, making Hecate pause, but when it showed no sign of running, she leaned forward and buried her hand in its fleece. It was still soft as wool. It didn’t feel wiry or abrasive like metal, but it was undoubtedly gold. The ram didn’t flinch or flee, and Hecate began stroking its back easily, her thoughts turning to Hera. She sat there for an unknown amount of time, waiting to see what would happen when Hera got wind that her sacrifice had been disrupted.
Hecate hardly noticed the ram nuzzling up against her legs, almost as if it was embracing her in return.
6
Hecate was too preoccupied with the thought of a furious Hera to go back to Heraklion. She had seen what Hera would do, or rather, what Hera was unafraid to do to temples and priestesses. She had done it to Nyx centuries ago even if Nyx’s retribution had been fair and swift. At the same time, she didn’t want the women at the temple to think that she had left them without saying goodbye—something they might interpret as a slight or a sign that she had been displeased with them.
While the sun was just past midday, Hecate turned and busied herself with grabbing firewood from the sticks and underbrush of the surrounding sparse wood. The whole time, the ram kept at her ankles, never straying more than a few feet from her. As she unloaded an armful of twigs into the clearing, she looked down at the creature.
It had huge, green eyes that seemed to soften when they looked at her.Well, now you’re just imagining things.Hecate broke the silence of the clearing with a chuckle.If you start talking to this animal, then youwillbe the crazy witch they say you are.
As soon as she thought it, she found herself turning and staring at the animal. “You think that the priestesses will have a fire going in the middle of the day?”
Shit.Hecate’s lips pressed into a thin line as she shook her head and wiped her hands on her himation.There goes the last of my sanity.Her eyes widened in surprise when the ram gave a short bleat in response, moving its head almost in an affirmative.
“Careful,” Hecate abandoned any concerns of lunacy—a talent she had picked up after eons of being known as the mother of witches—and spoke out loud to the ram as she began building a fire pit. “I’m not exactly going to do anything for my reputation by now avoiding my own temples and talking to a golden sheep.” The ram made another bleating sound. “My apologies, a ram.”
Hecate stopped, rolling her eyes at herself before tossing the last of the firewood into the pit. She closed her eyes, hummed a few things under her breath, and snapped her fingers. The flame was lit instantly, immediately built up to a roaring fire. The ram screamed, taking a few steps in surprise, causing Hecate to stifle a laugh.
“I’m terribly sorry.” She grinned. “Goddess of witchcraft and all. It comes with the territory, but I don’t suppose you know that. Strange though. Most animals do.” Hecate paused for a second, staring at the ram for another fleeting moment before it came back up to her side. She ran her hand through its fleece again before sitting down and closing her eyes, losing herself nearly immediately in a trance. She sent a message to her temple that she would be back the following day, that pressing matters had come up, but she did not intend to leave without saying goodbye. As soon as she was satisfied that the message had been received, signaled by the smoke turning red, she waved her hand, and the fire went out.
Hecate leaned back against a boulder… and started to wait. There was a chance that Hera didn’t care at all or was already onto the next scheme, but she couldn’t risk drawing her out in the city. She would have to spend the night here in case she had drawn out the queen of the gods.
