It wasn't easy to shut out the sense of the earth's blood, and Hekate was rather frightened of trying. She feared that if she closed off the sense, she wouldn't be able to find the veins of the Mother again. That, at least, turned out to be a vain fear. When the desire to use the "invisible magic" became stronger than her fear, she did try. It was like being deafened, shut in a black room, suspended midair so she lost even the sense of touch. Terror dried her mouth and almost stopped her breathing, but the full sense of the Mother's touch resumed the moment she opened herself.
The experiment having been made, the terror of being shut off from all warmth and power became less and she dared try in Yehoraz's presence. At first the sense of deprivation was too strong for any fainter power to make an impression. However, over the moons that followed while she taught Yehoraz spells, until he said the full price for the language of Colchis was paid, and then bartered spells with him, Hekate began to feel the source from which he drew his strength.
It was, indeed, "higher." Some energy existed far above the clouds where there was a rushing about of she knew not what but it could be tapped. Patient trials made the source clearer; repeated effort showed her the source was not as diffuse as she had believed. There were running streams and eddies and even whirlpools of power that she could draw upon. Then one day when there was a violent thunderstorm, Hekate drew so much power she almost "burned" and had to send what she had received down into the earth. There the power ran at once into one of the veins of the earth. It was all one power, Hekate realized, just drawn in different ways.
That removed the last of her fears about using that power. She had been a trifle concerned that the Mother would be angry, would think her ungrateful and greedy to be seeking more power than she already had. But it was one power, all the Mother's power . . . only Kabeiros assured her that when she drew from the air he could no longer smell her magic, only the faint, acrid sense of lightning.
Although she had come to like and trust Yehoraz, Hekate never used the power of lightning in his presence and continued to assure him she could not feel his magic any more than he could feel hers. This was not completely a lie; all she ever felt was that very, very faint prickling, but now she saw the power those of Colchis used, saw the power as swirls and flows of color in the air around her and as sparkles and stabs of light when the power was used.
Had Yehoraz needed to use the power of earth-blood, Hekate would have tried to teach him how to reach it because she felt she owed him a considerable debt. The need to teach him to make each spell anew so he could use it with his own power had taught her how to take apart spells she had used from childhood and for which she had lost the true structure. From that, she learned how to fold together other, greater spells.
The freezing spell, for one, she could now invoke with two gestures and three short words. Now Hekate combined that with a technique her mother had taught her in secret when she was a child, to invest a spell in an inanimate object—an amulet, a precious stone, even a ceramic cup or saucer. Then the spell could be invoked from its container with a single common word, a key. She had delivered healing spells that way when she wanted to hide that she was using magic.
In gratitude, she gave Yehoraz the freezing spell; she invested it in a very pretty piece of clear quartz that looked as if it contained snowflakes. All Yehoraz had to do was to touch the crystal and say the three invoking words. For an unTalented person, that would have been the end of the spell, for the power with which Hekate had invested it would be drained. However Yehoraz was a sorcerer; having frozen and released one of his servants, he attempted to recharge the crystal by feeding it lightning power. To Hekate's delight, the spell worked perfectly a second time. Yehoraz stared at the crystal and then began to weep.
"Dear Mother," Hekate cried, "what have I done wrong? How have I hurt you? You are my friend. I would not harm you for the world!"
"No harm. No harm." The old man patted her shoulder. "But you are ten years too late." He was silent, caressing the stone. Then he said in a rush, "If you had come with this ten years ago, I would still be living in a lavish house two doors down from the palace gate. I angered Medea, for I would not do what she desired, and before I could explain why, she had blasted me. I almost died, and when I recovered, my great spells would not work."
"I am very sorry," Hekate said, lips thinning. This Medea seemed to be another Perses.
"No. No. Those were tears of gratitude. I'm not sorry at all. I was just thinking how merciful are the gods. I would have used this spell if I had it, and perhaps far worse would have befallen me. Because she blasted me, I came here and did small magics for small people. And I became free. For the first time since I came from my school, I wasn't afraid. Living near and serving the court was spiritual death. I became hard and cruel. I found myself looking at every other sorcerer who should be my friend, as if I expected to be robbed or killed. No! I would not go back, but the spell will be useful . . . very useful."
"Nonetheless what Medea did was very wrong. Perhaps she needs to be taught a lesson."
"No!" Yehoraz touched Hekate gently. "You may be as strong as she, but you haven't the ruthlessness. You can both do terrible things, but she would without a thought, and you would stop to think . . . and be destroyed. Besides, she is the king's daughter and has mundane powers as well as sorcerous ones. Let her be. She didn't mean it, but she made me a happy man. I have more than enough to eat and drink. I have, thanks to you, spells that will make my clients devoted forever. But it would be an infinite asset if I, too, could invest amulets with spells."
Hekate had not intended to part with that secret, but Yehoraz swore that the art would go no further. "I have a woman whose husband beats her. If I could give her an amulet that would make his arms and legs numb every time he began to hit her . . ."
Hekate's silver eyes narrowed; Yehoraz knew she had a weakness. "Very well, I'll show you, but it isn't easy. You can't simply transfer the spells. You must go back to the beginning and do each part of the spell separately."
It wasn't true. Hekate was able to transfer her spells to the inanimate container in their finished form by means of a transport spell she had devised, but she didn't want to make it easy to invest an innocent-seeming object with an evil spell. Not that she suspected Yehoraz of doing that; he was a good man . . . but not a very strong one. She was afraid he would be unable to resist showing off his ability or might be pressured into teaching a less scrupulous sorcerer the skill.
The difficulty Yehoraz had in transferring a spell to an object brought a new advantage to Hekate because he knew that spells fade, no matter how carefully nurtured. Thus, he implemented his work with a very tiny binding spell that sealed the power inside the spell and, incidentally, concealed it. The binding spell was new to Hekate. Yehoraz taught it to her, laughing with delight over having something to give her, aside from his company and his advice.
Needless to say, the ability to create amulets and invest innocent-looking things with magic did wonders for Hekate's business. She had been doing well as an herb-wife because her salves and potions were good in themselves. Now they were doubly effective—a little spell here and there helped immeasurably and being invisible passed any scrutiny by a practicing sorcerer or a priest. Add to that amulets that could easily be disguised as jewelry, say to aid a merchant in testing the quality of goods or the truth-telling of those with whom he dealt, she was growing quite rich.
However, her personal problem remained. Although she used magic constantly now, she was still subject to her fear and distaste for casting spells, and that constant miasma of unease frequently made her miserable. She knew the fear was ridiculous; in Colchis magic was a way of life, so much so that there were laws governing its use and standard fines and punishments for misuse. Reason, however, had no effect on Hekate's anxiety and she grew more dissatisfied than ever with the inner compulsion to avoid magic.
She admitted that on the road to Colchis the reluctance had proved useful. She and Kabeiros between them had found other solutions for problems for which she would ordinarily have thoughtlessly used magic. That restraint had kept her from being noted as a witch and having that reputation passed from caravan to caravan.
Still, in a city in which magic was practiced freely, to need to think about and force herself to cast a spell might become far more dangerous than being known as a spell-caster. Another puzzle was that she felt no anxiety about building new spells or learning new ways to make them quicker and more effective. Also, she loved magic and loved to work with it. In fact, learning and teaching Yehoraz what she knew actually relieved her fear and made her happy.
That thought brought her back to that forever unfinished "because." She could teach and learn spells, which must be kept perfectly in memory because . . . Unconsciously she turned her head to look south, which happened to be at a blank wall. She stared at it unseeingly, a slow-growing horror twisting her lips, her hands clenching on what they held, her throat and mouth drying with fear.
Her mind tried to slip away from that horror, to wonder about a spot on the wall, to think about the bags and bundles of herbs piled against it, but this time there was no interruption to let her mind squirm free. Kabeiros was asleep. The inn was almost silent. Because . . . She gripped the word and the rest of the phrase came to her. Because . . . Because she was supposed to bring the new spells home to Perses.
Whether she made a sound of distress or he sensed her fear, Kabeiros leapt to his feet and a moment later Hekate found a weight of dog against her shoulder and a large, wet tongue lapping at her face. She hugged Kabeiros hard and buried her face against his smooth fur.
*You remember that I told you I had this ridiculous fear of using magic except to teach or learn spells?*
*I remember.*
*I have just fought my way through the deception covering that fear. I am sure now it must be some compulsion set on me by my father. I know, too, why I was happy to create new spells and teach them to others.* Tears filled her eyes and she wiped her cheeks on Kabeiros' soft neck. *I was always supposed to learn every new spell I could and bring it home to him.* She swallowed hard. *I don't remember ever teaching him a spell. I suppose he somehow lifted them from my mind . . . *
She was shivering and nauseous. Kabeiros licked the tears from her face. She held him tight. "I wish you were a man," she whispered.
*I wish so too.* The mental voice was somehow blurred. *The man wishes he were a man.* There was a wry mental chuckle. *The dog doesn't care.*
*Kabeiros, I haven't forgotten. I've asked every sorcerer, every witch I've met, about anyone who's tried to 'cure' shape-shifting. Yehoraz has asked, too, but we must be careful. Shape-shifters are no better liked here in Colchis than elsewhere, even if magic is accepted. And there could be danger for you. Yehoraz is a dear, sweet man and wise in some ways, but he's no tower of strength and he knows you're more than a dog. I think Rakefet and Batshira . . . no, probably they think you're just a familiar. But no one will even admit shape-shifting exists.*
The dog sighed heavily. *Admit, no, but mostly their eyes shifted and always to the same direction.*
*The palace.*
*Yes.*
Hekate sighed. *I suppose I'll have to go and introduce myself to Aietes and Medea.*
*Not yet,* Kabeiros said, resting his head against her. *I'm not that desperate yet.*
However, Hekate was not to have the choice about when to meet Aietes and Medea. Less than a ten-day later, Rakefet came into the market, rather breathless and looking uneasily over her shoulder. Hekate cut short a pleasant conversation she was having with a satisfied client, and as soon as the client was gone, Rakefet plucked at her sleeve urging her into a quiet spot away from other waiting clients. Kabeiros remained, guarding Hekate's wares.
"Batshira sent me," Rakefet whispered. "There was a message for you from the palace. Tomorrow morning you are to present yourself to the king. A guard will come to escort you. If . . . if you wish to disappear before then . . ." Her eyes were large with fear.
"Thank you, Rakefet," Hekate said, blinking with shock. "You and Batshira are very kind—and very brave. But if I were to disappear, you would be in great trouble because the king would know you warned me."
"No, no. We were supposed to tell you when you came back to the inn. Mother only thought if you knew a few hours earlier . . ."
Having absorbed the shock, Hekate shook her head. "It's still very good of you both, but I don't think there's anything to fear—at least, not yet. If the king intended me harm, why warn me a day in advance? That's silly. He could have sent a guard at any time to arrest me right here. I'm known well enough in the market."
"But if you are taken . . ." Rakefet whispered. "It would be too late."
"True, but if I flee, must I not be guilty of something? And I'm not." She shrugged. "I'll think about it. If I don't return to the inn, you may have whatever I leave there."
Calmer, Rakefet said, "Well, it's true he could have sent the guard here. And guards come for merchants, to get them through the gates. It was just . . . Mother and I like you, Hekate. We know—" she looked toward Kabeiros and lowered her voice even further "—you're greater than most of the sorcerers up past the Royal Way. We don't talk, but . . ."
"There's been gossip about me?"
The girl nodded. Hekate sighed and patted Rakefet's shoulder. "It's all right. I'll manage."
Frowning, Hekate returned to the waiting clients and attended to their wants, which fortunately were simple, thinking furiously all the time. Kabeiros must have caught some of those thoughts—as they grew closer over the years of companionship, he sometimes did receive a sort of spillover from her mind—so he wasn't surprised when she was free and told him of Rakefet's message. He had been thinking about the problem, too.
*I hope you're right,* he said. *I agree that it would seem stupid for the king to give you warning, but it may also be that he's just confident no one can escape him.*
*But I'm sure I've done nothing forbidden,* Hekate protested.
*A king's will can make the most innocent act forbidden. Still, I think as you do that the threat isn't immediate. Such a message most likely means he's curious. Perhaps Yehoraz couldn't resist speaking of the 'invisible magic' or the amulets that could be triggered with a single word. The king might want those secrets. What will you do?*
*Give him the 'secret' of the amulets at once and act wide-eyed with surprise that it's something he didn't know. As to the 'invisible magic,' I'll tell him that the magic of Colchis is equally invisible to me and that I'll gladly cast spells or do whatever he asks to give him the answer, but that I don't know it myself. I must trust in my shields; if he gets through them, we'll both be in deep trouble.*
The dog sighed again. *True enough. I think your plan is best, but I also think it best that I don't accompany you into the king's presence. You can transmit what's said to me, if it's safe to do so. If you come out again, I'll be waiting patiently by the door. If you don't, you can tell me where they have taken you and I'll come and get you out.*
*Good enough,* Hekate agreed calmly, although she wasn't sure she would call for Kabeiros' help.
It would depend on the kind of guards the king used. If they were stupid common men, Kabeiros likely could manage to release her by taking out the guards one at a time. If they were well-trained and responded as a group, they would surely kill him. But if she didn't call him in an attempt to save his life, she might well doom him to a more horrible death, a slow death of the soul as the dog lost its humanity.
One thing, however, she came to see before her day's work ended—that it was useless to try to escape. There was no way she could get far enough from Colchis to elude the king's grasp if he wished to seize her. Unless . . . if she took a ship? Then she remembered the long black vessel that moved upriver without oars, with full sails when no breeze blew. She couldn't think of a ship that would be swifter than the king's vessels. No, the best she could do was to build the strongest wards possible and hope it was curiosity that drove Aietes to summon her, not anger.
She was as prepared as one can possibly be for the totally unknown when she took her staff in hand and went to wait in the street for Aietes' guard. Although Batshira had not asked her to meet the guard outside, her voice was gruff with emotion when she thanked Hekate for her consideration.
"A week's free lodging," she said.
Hekate widened her eyes. "Are you that sure I won't be returning?" she asked.
"That was a low blow," Batshira said, laughing.
Hekate laughed too, but she didn't feel at all like laughing when she saw the guard coming down the street through a wide aisle the people left around him . . . it. The thing was plainly not human, although it stood upright on two legs, had two arms, and was clothed and armed like a man. Hekate could not see the head under the full helmet it wore, but the face was gray-skinned and naked; there were nostrils but no nose; and the eyes—the eyes were not flesh at all, but bright, many-faceted stones.
Taking a deep breath, Hekate stepped into the street. "I am Hekate," she said. "I believe you have come for me."
The creature stopped and regarded her. "Lady Hekate?" Its voice was flat, with a metallic ring as if it spoke through the wire strings of an instrument.
Hekate nodded. "I am the Lady Hekate."
The thing bowed a little, turned, and led the way back up the street. It moved lithely. A well-trained human athlete could not have been more graceful. Kabeiros rose from the shadows at the side of the building. They had talked about how to act and had decided not to call attention to Kabeiros. He would simply follow discreetly.
The guard was silent and they walked up Sorcerers Road to the Royal Way. He crossed that road, continuing along Sorcerers Road, which first showed large, fine houses set back behind metal gates and then seemed to become almost a rural lane broken only by tree-bordered paths. Along one of those, straighter than the others, Hekate caught a glimpse of a house as large as the palace of the ruler of Ur-Kabos. The homes of the great sorcerers, she thought. Yehoraz must have lived in a house like that before Medea blasted him—before he could explain why he had not been able rather than would not obey her. Hekate pressed her staff deeper into the earth and drew more power into her shields.
The guard's pace slowed as they approached a gate in a stone wall, which was some five man-heights tall, built of polished stone so smooth, so well fitting, that climbing it was clearly impossible. A guard stood at the gate, a perfect duplicate of the guard that had accompanied her. Neither spoke, but the gate guard lowered his spear and pulled the gate aside. Hekate, who was watching on the "higher" plane of magic, saw a bright flash of light pass between them.
Kabeiros had closed the distance between himself and Hekate and her guard when the palace wall came into view. Now he stood beside Hekate, between her and her guard; the gate guard either did not notice the dog or had been instructed to allow him entrance because he made no protest when Kabeiros followed Hekate into the inner precincts.
This was a wide area paved in polished black stone that seemed to go around the whole palace. Hekate looked up . . . and up . . . and up, and to the right and the left, which was possible because the guard was walking slowly to avoid bumping into any of the large number of busy people who moved about the area. Many were servants engaged in obvious tasks like sweeping or hauling goods in small handcarts. Many others were well dressed, some with scrolls, others having baskets or covered rolls or well-made carrying bags, all moving this way or that with deliberate purpose.
Of greater importance to Hekate was that no one looked particularly frightened; among the well-dressed people with business in the palace there were a few frowns, but those seemed more thoughtful than worried. And no one glanced even twice at her or her guard. The creatures seemingly were commonly used as escorts and messengers.
Her particular escort wove his way with remarkable dexterity to a wide portico of white marble. Hekate glanced right and left, a long way right and left. She blinked. The portico also seemed to go all the way around the huge building. An effort kept her from shaking her head. The palace at Byblos, far grander than that at Ur-Kabos, would not, she suspected, have served as an out-kitchen to this place.
The guard mounted the white marble steps and crossed the portico. Directly ahead were immense double doors which, open, could probably admit three or four war chariots. A guard stood before them, but when, again, that flash of light passed between the two strange creatures, although the door guard nodded, he did not open the vast double doors. He gestured to a dark recess in which a human-sized door stood already open.
Kabeiros, having followed without eliciting any notice, entered the dark recess, went through the door and stopped, still within a sort of very short corridor. Hekate's guard took no more notice of this than he had of anything else the dog had done.
As she went forward without the hound, Hekate felt bereft. Then she saw directly ahead, across a wide corridor paved in black slabs, another pair of bronze double doors. These doors, like the small one beside which Kabeiros sat, were open and beyond them was a great hall paved and pillared in a cream-colored, green-veined marble.
The guard marched ahead into a wide avenue between the pillars. Hekate followed and saw a chamber so vast that the farther end was obscured. Brass torches were fixed to each pillar and also to the side walls, each at least five man-lengths distant. What were obviously mage lights burned on each torch. The power expended was shocking. For one moment Hekate opened her shields enough to use mage sight and could see the power pouring through the room. Even so, the light was dim, which was why, she realized, she could not clearly see the far end of the chamber.
She was startled and tightened her wards immediately when the guard hesitated long enough to exchange a flash of light with another of the creatures, which Hekate had not seen approach. The second guard pointed to an aisle—one of several, Hekate now saw—left free to approach a dais through a moderately large audience of silent people. The guard led; she followed. As she passed them, she saw irritation on their faces, not fear; the kind of irritation one feels when a customer or client is served ahead of you out of turn.
Expression? But the room had been too dim . . . Hekate looked about, realizing that the area around the central—or perhaps it was more accurate to say an off-center—dais was bright as day. Instinctively she looked up and gasped. A huge metal framework, high-arched to resist its own weight, covered the entire central section of the room over the dais. Inside each section of the framework was a substance clear as water, but hard enough not to sag. Hekate would have said they were slices of crystal, but whoever heard of crystal sliced as thin as parchment? She longed to look at it with mage sight, but she was afraid to drop her wards, even for a moment, this close to the dais.
As she and her guard grew closer, the sound of voices drew her attention. She could not see the speaker, who was on the same level as she, on the floor before the dais, but she could see those on it more clearly every moment.
On the dais was a throne chair in which sat a big man, doubtless King Aietes. His hair was brown and curly as was his beard, which was full but neatly trimmed at about four fingerwidths' length. His lips were full, curved upward a trifle at the corners, which gave him a look of good nature, and, to Hekate's relief, his eyes did not belie that; they were a dark brown and gazed directly at the person speaking and their expression was mildly amused as he replied.
To the left of the chair stood a tall, well-built young man. His hair was fair, his eyes blue, and he was smiling down at a boy of about ten, whom he held by the hand. He had a look of Kabeiros about him; he, too, had underlying sadness in his expression, even as he smiled.
To the right of the chair was a woman, no, a girl. Although her lush body cried woman, there was something about her—her carriage, the way she held her head, the smoothness of her skin—that betrayed her youth. Young or old, she was outstandingly beautiful, her pale-skinned face was broad at the temples and softly heart-shaped with high cheekbones that made the most of enormous, almond-shaped eyes, tilted up at the outer edges under winged eyebrows, which almost touched a waterfall of blue-black hair.
Those eyes. Hekate looked down at the floor. A witch's eyes, not silver like Hekate's own but almost colorless, marked only by the black pupil and a black ring around the nearly invisible iris. Hekate didn't dare open her shields, but now that the shock of the girl's beauty had diminished a little, Hekate was almost overwhelmed by her aura; it was so intense she could feel it beat against her, like the warmth of the sun. This must be Medea—the Medea who had blasted Yehoraz.
Afraid the wild mixture of curiosity, fear, and resentment would somehow leak through and betray her, Hekate turned her attention to the king and the new petitioner who had come forward. The man was well-fed—perhaps a bit too well-fed—rubicund of countenance and wearing an expression of anxiety that didn't sit too well on him.
"Sire, I beseech you to consider us. You are safe behind your walls and your guards, but you have so well governed, that your city is the most prosperous in the world. That very prosperity has driven us to populate the south bank of the river and there we are almost naked to any raider who sails up the river and desires to attack us. If we are so easily robbed, the prosperity of Colchis will be damaged. Who will want to bring their goods to a place where those goods can be easily lost?"
"I am not unaware of the problem," Aietes responded, "and I have given it some thought. There are three principal ways to solve it. First, the merchants could all band together and hire enough guards to fight off any assaults from reivers. Second, I could enlarge my navy considerably and have the river mouth always under observation and patrol so my ships could attack any pirates. Third, I could close off the river with illusion so that no thief could find it."
"But then the merchants could not find it either," the petitioner protested.
"Oh well, each merchant with Colchis as his destination would take aboard a mage who would have a key to the illusion." King Aietes smiled.
"And who would pay the mages?"
"The merchants, of course."
"Then I think an increase in the navy—"
"Which would necessitate a substantial increase in tariffs, docking fees, and perhaps other taxes. Warships do not build themselves, and the mages who ride them and assure that they will be where they are needed when they are needed also must be paid."
"Sire, Sire," the merchant cried. "I cannot make such a decision for all my peers without a word to them. And yet it has taken me near a year to obtain this audience. Must I go back and tell them I have no news, that we must wait another year?"
"Master Merchant." The mellow voice was that of the blond man to the king's left. "Nothing worth having is free. You have yourself praised the good governance of King Aietes. You are not the only one who has petitions for him, which is why each must wait his turn. Now think of his generosity in not simply applying to the problem of raiders the remedy that would cause him the least inconvenience and assessing you for the cost. Any solution will take time and have a price. Warships are not built in a day, nor is an illusion that disguises the whole coast generated without long preparation. Even if you take your protection into your own hands, you will find that you cannot assemble a good and reliable fighting force overnight. I advise you to take King Aietes' generosity to heart."
"Of course." The Master Merchant bowed. "I understand. I am grateful."
"Good. Then go back to your living quarter and discuss these expedients with your fellow merchants. When you have come to a conclusion as to what would best suit you all, come to me. I will bring your answer to the king so that you do not need to wait for a formal appointment, and I will bring his answer to you."
"Meddling again, Phrixos?" The girl smiled as she spoke, which almost made the words into praise.
Almost, but not quite. Hekate knew without any doubt that Medea did not like Phrixos, not at all! Her eyes flicked to Aietes' face and to Phrixos'; only Phrixos seemed unaware of the bitterness under the honey—thick, smooth, and sweet—of Medea's voice. Hekate's eyes came back to that beautiful face and widened. One blemish existed in the perfect beauty. Medea's lips were perfectly bowed, very red, full and soft, but the smile exposed her teeth, which were just a little too small for her mouth and, in addition, as sharply pointed as if each had been filed.
King Aietes laughed but looked hard at Medea. "He meddles to my great benefit," he said firmly. "Phrixos, I will leave the whole in your hands, for the merchant has spoken of a real and growing danger. As the fame of Colchis spreads, greedy eyes turn to us. There was that raid on the lower docks by Porters Way and Lord Nodeleya and Lady Tshuva lost a whole shipload of goods, not to mention the buildings that were burnt and the people killed. That was only one ship. What if ten had come?" He turned to the merchant. "Master Merchant, I will give Phrixos the power to carry out whatever decision he makes for the protection of the city."
The man called Phrixos bowed his head to the king and said, "Yes, lord," then turned to look at the Master Merchant. "Come to my house after the Court is over, and we will make arrangements for your easy access to me," he said, smiling.
The merchant seemed well pleased with that arrangement and stepped back into the crowd. Another man pressed forward, but the king's guard forestalled him.
"Here is the Lady Hekate," it said.
The eyes of everyone on the dais turned to her. Hekate clutched her staff tighter. Phrixos smiled. Aietes looked faintly puzzled. And Medea cried out, high and angry, "By the names of all the gods, she isn't there!"