With considerable mental agility Hekate managed to avoid thinking about what Eurydice had forced her to expose. She had always admitted that she was afraid of her father; she had said so to Kabeiros several times over the years. Perses was a great mage and only the worst kind of fool would not fear him. She had admitted being afraid of Medea and cautious about Aietes and the Olympians. What she had not admitted was that the fear of Perses went much deeper. It was like a black fungus growing in every hidden corner of her soul.
Some day she would have to confront him . . . Yes, but that day wasn't yet and she filled her mind with peripheral matters—not so far from the confrontation with Perses as to rack her with guilt, but far enough away that the dread moment still seemed quite distant.
First, of course, was the spell itself. Hekate compared what Eurydice had told her line for line with what came from Baltaseros' grimoire. The words were the same. The symbols were the same. The only difference Hekate could find was that owing to pain and fear Eurydice had three times broken the spell by hesitations almost long enough to spoil it and make it backlash. And, of course, she had repeated it twice, the second time without pause because Baltaseros was already feeling the effects and his rape had stopped.
Hekate racked her brains for a way to test her ideas. Obviously, one couldn't find a human subject for such an experiment, not even an animal subject—if animals cast spells. She conceived of the notion of setting the spell she had for gathering energy into a figurine, allowing a pool of power to infuse the figure, and then draining it. It was not a difficult idea to conceive of; making it work was considerably more complicated and took several ten-days.
She had just about solved that problem—with several refinements, too . . . not that she was wasting time, not at all. How could she know what she would need to be prepared against? It was nearly time to begin actually testing the draining spell when Dionysos came to her with a very complex problem.
Ariadne, his high priestess and the woman he loved, was a true Mouth for his Visions and was able to control him when he was about to loose rage and panic. He needed to have Ariadne live with him in Olympus, but she had a half brother who was, poor creature, a feeble-minded monster with a bull's head welded to a man's body. This creature had run amok and killed several people, and his father and mother wished to confine him so he could do no more harm.
The trouble was that Ariadne had a most tender heart and having cared for the Minotaur all his life could not agree with her father who had been ready to bury the bull-head in an underground prison. A servant of her father's had proposed to build instead a maze, where the Minotaur would be able to walk free, see the sky, and enjoy little gardens. However, no merely physical maze would be enough; the creature was not only incredibly strong, but already enormous and might grow more. The maze would have to be magical and also be sealed so the Minotaur could not escape.
Could Hekate add magical twists and turns? magical strength to the walls? seal it? Could she lock those magical ways, strength, and seals into some unlimited power, as she had the illusion in the valley of the Nymphae, so the spells wouldn't need renewal? If she could do that for him, Dionysos said, Ariadne would agree to come to Olympus and the excesses of his "blessing of the vineyards" would be over.
It was then that Hekate truly realized that her bond to Dionysos was gone. The binding was broken. She was free . . . but so was he! He was a man, not a boy, and Ariadne was now the balance wheel that would keep him steady. She would lose him, too, she thought. Who or what was this Ariadne? But she didn't want to know. If the woman could give him peace, she must let Dionysos go. She had never been able to give him peace.
She pulled her mind away from the black emptiness that loomed ahead of her. "It isn't a question of my strength," she said slowly. "It's a question of how much earth-blood I can reach to power the spells. And the illusions, which must shift and change . . . This is no small project you are proposing to me."
Dionysos grinned at her. "I was no small project and you have brought me nearly to completion now. Think how bored you will be when I am not running wild and causing riots and bloodshed. A nice quiet maze with a monster in it should be just a light amusement for you."
Hekate couldn't help laughing. "I will go and look over the ground and see whether it is possible at all."
"Come and meet Ariadne. She will be able to explain better—"
"No," Hekate interrupted, concealing panic. "I must see for myself without any shadows in my mind."
Dionysos shrugged. "You know best. And, besides, we have that business with your father to settle." The good humor left his expression and his eyes brightened dangerously. "I am looking forward to that. The sooner the better. He has caused you much pain, Hekate . . . and you are dear to me."
He took her hand, squeezed it, put it to his lips, and was gone from the chamber. Hekate stood up, staring after him. He had never done anything like that before, never shown the least sign that he was aware of the burden he was to her or that he had any special affection for her.
*He is growing up,* the black dog said, lifting his head from his paws where he lay beside her chair.
"He mustn't come." Hekate's voice was choked with panic. "He has no real wards against magic. Perses could harm him, kill him. He is just beginning his real life."
*Will you make him carry his debt to you through that whole life?*
Hekate felt as if a knife had lodged in her throat. Was that how Kabeiros felt? Crushed beneath a weight of debt? No wonder he wished to be free of her. She must test her spell and go to face her father in Ka'anan. If she died or was destroyed in mind if not in body, at least Kabeiros would be free. And truly free. He need not live alone in the caves of the dead in Ka'anan to remain a man. He could live with Hades and Persephone. He could have friends, hunt, use his magic . . . find a woman to love.
A woman to love among the dead? Hekate wondered at the thought and then sighed. There could be a woman. The dwellers in the underworld were only dead to the upper world. Eurydice's hand had been as warm and firm as her own. She remembered Hermes' arm resting on Acteon's scarred shoulder. That was no wraith but solid flesh. Those sacrificed to the king of the dead were living and could be hurt, which was why Kabeiros had wanted to protect them. And she could not imagine the sacrifices being killed by any order of Lord Hades, whose kindness was palpable. So they were alive and she must stop using Kabeiros' need of her as an excuse to avoid confronting Perses.
She began to work on the draining spell again, testing the figure that was drawing power, drawing power from it in small amounts using the spell as it was written, then checking to see that the power was building up again in the figurine. That went well, but when it came to trying the spell in its most dire form . . . she couldn't. She stumbled over the timing, stumbled over the words—she who had never stumbled over a spell in her life. The servants cowered in their quarters as the house rang with thunderclaps of power gone awry, and more than once Hekate took to her bed suffering the pain and debility of backlash.
Eventually Kabeiros stopped her. *What a fool you are!* he snapped, snapped literally because his jaws opened and closed within a hairsbreadth of her arm while he thought at her. *First you idle away weeks refining a spell that doesn't need embellishment, then you fix so hard on polishing this stupid spell, which I am sure will pour out of you perfectly when you need it, that you make yourself stale. Enough. If you aren't ready yet to do what you must, let's go look at Crete and see if you can create what will be necessary to hold this Minotaur.*
Hekate agreed meekly. She had met Ariadne briefly when she came for a visit to Olympus, and in her presence Dionysos was a different person. His eyes did not stare, violence did not seethe behind his smile. Her servants, accustomed to her calm, always reacted badly to Dionysos. With Ariadne beside him, they didn't tremble and wince away, extending a tray at arm's length when summoned to bring wine and cakes. The madness that had shimmered around him more and more was gone. It was time, Hekate knew, for Ariadne to take up permanent residence in Dionysos' house, so the Minotaur had to be contained.
Hermes took her to the great palace at Knossos so she could see the maze Daidalos was creating. The first step was complete when she found more than enough earth-blood pulsing through thick arteries in the ground. The danger here was that the earth would rise and shake and the spells would be broken free. But since that violent a shaking—and Hekate saw that such had happened in the past—would almost surely kill everyone, the monster included, she set the worry aside.
Marking the real walls, she planned those that would be illusion. Kabeiros seemed to enjoy the temporary illusions Hekate created for the Minotaur's maze. He tested the magical pathways by sight and sound and scent. He was so plainly having a good time that Hekate allowed herself to take pleasure in her work. She set the spells and polished her plans so that when Daidalos' work was done she would only need a few hours to complete her part. Dionysos could carry the spell to dismiss and invoke the maze to Ariadne and she could transfer it to whoever else was necessary.
She and Kabeiros, perhaps closer than they had been since outside threats were gone and they settled into safe and comfortable residence in Olympus, were head-bent together over a chart of the maze. "The hardest part," she was saying, "will be to make the spell sense when the beast needs a change and open a new pathway. I will need—"
Her voice broke off as hurried steps sounded in the entrance corridor and Dionysos burst through the archway. "The king of Byblos is dead!" he cried. "Seventy days for drying the corpse. That's all we have, and you cannot carry both me and Kabeiros if you leap to Ka'anan. We must leave at once, Hekate."
"Yes," she said, standing up, one hand on the table to steady her. "We must leave at once. You can leap to Memphis, can't you, Dionysos? Or will Hermes take you? I can carry Kabeiros that far. There we can take ship for Byblos."
"I'll get Hermes," Dionysos said, dashing out again.
The black dog looked up at Hekate. *How did he know the king was newly dead and that we had all seventy days to travel?*
*I would imagine the news was passed from one of his temples in Ka'anan on to some priestess whom Bacchus was able to scry. He's not good for much, that Bacchus, but he is a powerful scryer. He can even bring aloud what is said, if he tries hard.*
Her thought was intent, as if what she said was of utmost importance instead of just babble to fill a silence into which shrieks of terror might erupt. Kabeiros gave her no time to think longer. *Trade metal,* he said, *and the little figure. We should take that, too. Will you need clothing?*
*No. I'll dress as an Egyptian. Egyptian women take part in trade and are much freer than those of Ka'anan. If I take trade metal I can buy what I need in Memphis.*
*Except a dark skin.*
*You want me to have more to worry about?*
*Yes,* Kabeiros said, lolling out his tongue. *Real worries you can solve will benefit you.*
He needed to say no more to distract her because Hermes and Dionysos appeared in the middle of the reception room floor. A flurry of activity followed—Dionysos rushing home to get trade metal for himself; Hermes flashing back to his house for the mask of Anubis when he realized they were going to Egypt; Hekate packing the figurine that pulsed with power again after its last draining. Then they were all assembled. Hekate slipped her pack over her shoulders, grasped Kabeiros, and laid her free hand on Hermes' shoulder. He extended a hand to Dionysos . . . They touched utter lightlessness, utter cold, and all stood together in the inner chamber of a deserted house in Memphis.
As soon as they were all steady on their feet, Hermes raised a hand in farewell and slipped out into the empty courtyard, his black jackal head silhouetted for one moment against a pale garden wall. Then he was gone. Hekate stared into the empty courtyard for a long moment.
"I wouldn't have let him come with us in any case," she said, "but that Hermes of himself could resist sticking his nose into someone else's affair is very strange. Do you think in his travels Hermes could have heard rumors of how powerful and dangerous . . . 'he' . . . is?"
Hekate didn't think the words "Perses" or "father." They weren't close but there were no shields on the building in which they arrived and she feared such personal references might resonate into some otherplanar place and draw attention.
"Not from me," Dionysos said, a shade defensively. He wasn't very good at keeping secrets.
Kabeiros laughed into their minds. *Oh, no. It was Hekate herself who convinced Hermes that this business is no jest and might end ill for anyone connected with it.*
"Me?" She was astonished. "I never said a word to Hermes about . . . 'him.' "
*There was no need for words.* Kabeiros laughed harder. *All Olympus keeps track of what you do and everything you say, and your feeling about . . . that one . . . is known. Since even Zeus fears you—*
"I've given him nor anyone else any reason to fear me!" Hekate snapped.
*No, you're right. It isn't fear. Perhaps it would be better to say they are in awe of you and what you do,* the dog continued. *To Hermes' mind, anything you fear is too big a mouthful for him to chew . . . And in a place where he has no near home-points to leap to, he might well be caught and mangled.*
Hekate shook her head and sighed. "Well, I'm glad he's gone. That's one less I have to worry about. Dionysos, have you been practicing those shields I taught you?"
"Oh, yes. I'll be able to raise them when I need them, but now is too soon, and I'm hungry. Let's stop standing in this empty room."
He's not so grown up, Hekate thought, that he doesn't need to eat all the time. The thought made her swallow and wonder if she had done right in listening to Kabeiros. Perhaps it would have been better to leave Dionysos with his burden and keep him safe. But she said nothing. It was too late; she only agreed that they should find a place to eat and to stay while they arranged passage to Byblos.
That was not difficult. All the goods traders had gathered over the winter was ready to be shipped north along the coast in exchange for lumber and copper. Although the ships didn't leave every day, the travelers actually had a choice of vessels and chose a sturdy ship with a clever captain scheduled to arrive in Byblos a ten-day before the summer solstice—and fifteen days before the funeral of the king.
Indeed, at first the captain of the ship had believed they were traveling to attend the funeral. Before she thought, Hekate denied it emphatically, asking, "Whose funeral?" in an attempt to conceal her purpose of interfering with the rite. Then she was annoyed with herself because to have agreed would have provided a reason for their journey. However, the captain was too polite to ask her business and her instinctive desire to separate herself from the funeral turned into a marked benefit. Assuming them ignorant, the captain was delighted to discuss the topic at great length.
The king had died, he told them, and good riddance for he was cruel, corrupt, and unjust. He had been that way from childhood, as had been his father, both ruined by an evil advisor. Hekate nearly held her breath to hear the man so casually blame Perses for Byblos' ills. And then the reason followed for the captain's freedom of speech. The advisor, accordng to the captain, was gone—he hoped dead.
The advisor had been ancient, the captain explained, old in the king's father's time. When this king sickened, it seemed the advisor had at last felt the weight of his years. He had taken a young apprentice, and more and more it was the apprentice who fulfilled the advisor's duties. And when all hope of the king's recovery had been abandoned, the advisor had announced that he was exhausted by his efforts to save the king. He would leave the funeral arrangements in the hands of his apprentice while he rested and restored his strength in his residence at Ur-Kabos.
To say the least, Hekate, Kabeiros, and Dionysos had been amazed at this information. None of them really believed it, but the tale was consistent no matter to whom they spoke. Kabeiros also picked up some extra information deemed unsuitable to be disclosed to foreigners by developing a fondness for the captain's company and sitting at his feet whenever he was off duty and relaxing with Ka'ananite passengers or the other ship's officers.
Among many private matters, which he ignored, and some financial ones that he stored in his mind to tell Dionysos for Hermes, Kabeiros learned that aside from feeling the funeral celebration was too extravagant, the Ka'ananites were not afraid. They suspected nothing of Perses' plans; one even had a relative who would go into the tomb and showed no concern. They complained of the expense, nothing else.
The blame for the costly plans was fixed on the advisor. All also agreed that the advisor's plan should have been abandoned now that he was gone. That it had not been was the fault, except that it was mentioned with a kind of affectionate tolerance, of the young prince and attributed to his foolish sentiment and lack of experience. Plainly the Ka'ananites had high hopes for the young prince, who, according to the bits and pieces they told each other, had been totally ignored by the king and his advisor and had grown up in the care of servants relatively untainted by the viciousness of the older men.
In the privacy of a tent-like draping of blankets in their corner of the deck, Hekate mentally insisted that she couldn't believe it. It was incredible to her that he would fail to seal the prince to his own purposes. Utterly ridiculous. If he was planning to renew his life by stealing the apprentice's body, he would need to control the next king. Dionysos suggested cheerfully that he, wishing to deny he was ageing, might have waited too long. Perhaps the "old man" was simply failing. For a little while a hope rose in Hekate, but she suppressed it because it was dangerous to have a hope that permitted underestimation of her opponent.
There was little sense in dwelling on facts that would only become clear when they arrived in Byblos, so mostly they talked about what to do there. First, Hekate would establish herself as an Egyptian dealer in medicinal herbs and spices. Under that guise it would be easy enough to inquire about the death of the king, the preservation of the body, the rites to be observed at his obsequies. Meanwhile Kabeiros and Dionysos, neither of whose auras Perses could possibly know, could try to determine where he really was.
The ship set them safely on the dock in Byblos well within the promised dates, twelve days before the summer solstice and seventeen days before the funeral rites would begin. The first part of Hekate's plan was easily implemented and, to her amazement, what they had learned aboard ship seemed to be the truth. Screwing her courage to the sticking point, Hekate actually approached the advisor's palace. It was still shielded too well for her to feel passively any magic within, although the shields were wearing thin. She could not bring herself to probe the place actively; those shields had been constructed by Perses, but it was too dangerous to try to discover whether he was hiding behind them.
Still, they had to know. After much argument, Hekate was forced to agree that Kabeiros should try to get inside. If he smelled Perses, he would escape immediately; if the sorcerer truly wasn't in the palace, he would try to gauge the quality of the apprentice.
Following close on the heels of a butcher delivering meat, Kabeiros gained entrance without the slightest difficulty. He was shocked at the laxity and dullness of the servants. They did smell of a foul magic but the smell was old, and they were like ill-controlled automata. Even when one looked directly at him, he showed neither emotion or curiosity about the huge black dog that had appeared in the kitchen quarters, and allowed Kabeiros to escape into the main house without outcry. After that, Kabeiros went on with some confidence that all the rumors were true and Perses had left Byblos or lost his power. The man Hekate feared so much wouldn't have barely functioning servants.
He investigated the whole house, smelling for magic and found only old traces, like those of the compulsion on the servants. Fresh magic only wafted from one room—and that room was neither locked nor bespelled. Work with jaw and paw on the latch let Kabeiros enter what had obviously been a sorcerer's workroom, although little sign of real magical apparatus remained. The spell smell was concentrated on a single medium-size amphora, both capped with wax and sealed with magic. There was also a hidden power source.
Then, as he was about to slip out of the door and leave, the apprentice entered the room. Unable to escape, Kabeiros abased himself, wagging his tail and fawning on the young man, who greeted him with about equal surprise and delight. Kabeiros' suprise and delight were much stronger; he had known that the apprentice had little Talent, but he hadn't known that the boy was a total blockhead. Even a stupid apprentice should be alarmed by discovering a large dog in his workroom. Kabeiros could only conclude that the boy had been selected for his perfection of Ka'ananite beauty, not Talent or brains.
Of course, whatever wits the boy had had might have been addled by the powerful compulsion spell he carried—and that, unlike the servants' spells, was working perfectly. The apprentice stank of magic, but not his own, and the compulsion spell might have made him even duller than he was naturally. Fortunately, the compulsion did not seem to cover the appearance of nonhuman creatures in the workroom.
Fawning on the boy gave Kabeiros license to stay close to his "new master." In the three days he remained in the palace he learned the entire progression of the rites and who would do what when. Court functionaries came and went—perhaps fifteen all together—and every one of them was also bound by a compulsion spell. No wonder Perses could leave his apprentice alone to carry out his orders. Moreover, when giving those orders, the apprentice seemed to come alive, to speak in a different, richer voice. Internally Kabeiros shrank into a hard protective ball. The apprentice was, at those times, seemingly under the direct control of Perses.
The compulsion, or whatever spell it was that controlled the apprentice, was incredibly detailed and seemed to have an answer for every contingency. Kabeiros panted a little with anxiety; this spell, as intricate as anything Hekate herself had devised, was evidence of the mage Hekate feared. About the only thing Perses had not foreseen was the advent of a large black dog carrying a man's mind.
After the apprentice was asleep on the third night, Kabeiros crept away, waited until a servant needed to use the privy, and escaped into the night. He felt a little sorry for the apprentice, who was plainly very lonely and had showered him with affection, but since it was partly on his account they were thrusting themselves into danger, he went without reluctance. However, had he known how he would be greeted on his return to Hekate's lodging, he might have stayed the night.
When Kabeiros did not return the night of the day he went to the advisor's palace, Hekate went half out of her mind with fear and regret. Before he could even have reached the advisor's palace, she had begun to lash herself for Kabeiros' imagined suffering and death because she let him go. Free of guilt, Dionysos pointed this out, laughing at her and assuring her that Kabeiros was strong and clever and well able to fend for himself.
When night fell Hekate cried she couldn't bear waiting any longer and readied herself to go after him. Again Dionysos held her back, reminding her that Kabeiros had said he might not find any opportunity to get into the place during the day. Hekate had cast an angry glance at Dionysos, but she hung up the thin black cloak she had removed from its hook and sat down where she could look out of the window. Knowing how she felt, Kabeiros had extracted a promise from her not to interfere within a reasonable time.
In case he could not get past servants or guards during the day, Kabeiros had said, he would wait for night and try to squeeze past someone going to the privy, enter with someone returning, or slip in while doors and windows were checked for security. Since he didn't expect to learn much with everyone asleep, he would probably stay the following day.
"And you know, he could even get locked in a second night," Dionysos warned. "For the Mother's sake, Hekate, you will put him in more danger by going there. When Kabeiros traveled with me and we got into trouble, it was more often Kabeiros who found a way out than I. He's very clever. Don't . . . don't treat him as if he were a dog."
That silenced Hekate. She knew how hurt Kabeiros felt when she tried to protect him, as if he were less than a man because he wore the form of a dog. And although she grew more and more frightened as the hours of the second day passed and she saw that Dionysos was also growing uneasy, she still did nothing. It was too late to do anything about Kabeiros anyway. Either he was free and trying to learn as much as he could and would be furious if she interfered, or he had been caught by Perses that first day and was dead or in Perses' power.
Grief and terror distilled themselves all through that day and the sleepless night that followed into a rage so white-hot that on the morning of the third day she seemed to have found an icy calm. Only Dionysos who knew her so long realized she was no longer rational. He wasn't wise in magic, but he knew that was no way to confront a clever sorcerer and he managed to get across to her the fact that the only one who would benefit if she attacked Perses unprepared was Perses. Nor could it do Kabeiros any good if she were dead or also bound to Perses' will.
"We have planned what to do when there were three of us," he said. "Now you must think of how to manage when there are only two. I can threaten you-know-who physically at the same time that I try to confuse his mind, but my threat will not be as startling as that of a huge black dog. Think, Hekate, how to make me more fearsome. An illusion?"
"I have lost Kabeiros." Hekate's voice was flat, as if terror and grief and rage had battled within her until she was emotionless. "I could not bear to lose you also. No, Dionysos, I will go alone."
"To what purpose?" Dionysos asked, cocking his head as if in curious inquiry. "If you just want to be dead, you could jump into the ocean or step in front of a heavy cart. If you want revenge on 'that one,' you must leave him as you told me Baltaseros was. I think if I can distract him long enough for you to lay a hand on him and start the spell, I will be quite safe. I think you said it works very fast."
"The spell!" Hekate stood up like a sleepwalker. "To make him like Baltaseros," she breathed. "Oh, yes. But I need to be able to compress the invocation." She looked at Dionysos and for a moment her grief showed on her face so that she almost took on the appearance of the crone without shifting. "It is too late to save Kabeiros so another few hours cannot matter. You are very right, Dionysos. I need to prepare a few spells and try once again to make the draining spell work the way I want it to work."
At two or three candlemarks after dark, Hekate came out of the inner room and showed Dionysos the little figurine. He hesitated to touch it; in the past it had been so strong a repository of power that it made his fingers tingle. Hekate smiled at him and urged him to take it. It was dead.
"And I cannot make it accept power again, no matter whether I draw from high or low." She smiled. Dionysos shuddered at her expression, which made her laugh. "Come. I'm ready to go now."
"How will we get in at this time of night?"
"I will blast down the door. That should bring 'him' quickly enough—"
"And warn 'him' of attack by an enemy."
Hekate smiled again. "All to the good. He will think of those enemies who would naturally use violence. He wouldn't expect it of me."
Dionysos shrugged and went to get the two black cloaks. "You know best," he said.
And a dog scratched on the door. The cloaks slipped from Dionysos' nerveless hand and he spun to face the sound. Hekate choked on a sob and rushed toward the door. Dionysos caught her.
"Do you think that is truly Kabeiros?" he whispered.
Tears were now pouring down Hekate's face. "No," she sobbed, "no. But we must let it in to destroy it."