‘I dare, child,’ came the whispering sound of Aida’s voice and Derae spun to see the dark-cloaked woman hovering nearby. Aida smiled. ‘Foolish girl to come here in the flesh. Even now the sharp knives are closing in on your hiding-place. Fly to it, Derae!’
‘I have beaten you,’ Derae shouted. ‘It does not matter if I die.’
‘And how have you beaten me, child? I am still here.’
‘There will be no Dark Birth,’ answered Derae, glancing down to where the acolytes were searching the undergrowth, moving ever closer to her hidden body. She did not want to die and fought to contain her fear.
Aida’s laughter cut through her like a cold knife. ‘You think a child – even a talented child – can thwart the powers of Kadmilos?’ She raised her arms. Black snakes fountained from her finger-tips, hissing through the night air to cover Derae in a writhing mass, their fangs glittering in the moonlight.
Ignoring the pain, Derae closed her eyes. The snakes changed colour, shifting from black to red, their shapes twisting into tiny circles, until they fell from her as rose-petals, drifting down to the ground.
‘You cannot harm me,’ said Derae softly. ‘Whereas . . .’
A dazzling sphere of light blazed up around Aida, trapping her at its centre. Derae fled for her body just as an acolyte discovered it.
The knife-blade swept down but Derae’s hand grabbed the wrist. Rolling to her knees, the priestess lashed her fist into the woman’s face, hurling her back. Then she was up and sprinting for the stone circle.
Behind her the pursuers screamed their hatred. Derae ran on. A hurled knife flashed by her head as she leapt over a fallen stone column. Turning in the centre of the circle she raised her arms. The world shimmered. As the Gateway closed around her, she heard Aida’s voice whisper in her mind.
‘There will be another time, my dove!’
*
Olympias lay on the silk-covered bed, her body floating on a sea of pleasure, her skin tingling, her mind exploding with colours. She licked her lips, running her fingers over her breasts and belly, aware of an almost painful desire.
‘Philip!’ she called. The room was spinning, the drugs in her system approaching the height of their powers. She had danced at the fire, felt the touch and caress of a score of acolytes, their lips soft and sweet with wine. The secrets of the Third Mystery had come to her with the music of the night, the breeze from the distant, holy peak of Korifi Fengari. She would give birth to a god-king, a man of awesome talents. His name would echo throughout history, his deeds remaining unequalled as long as the stars hung in the sky. ‘Philip!’
Even in her drugged state she could feel the passing of time – sense that the mystical hour was almost spent. She rolled to her side.
The curtains parted.
There he stood, naked but for his cloak and the ram-horned helm of Kadmilos. He strode towards her and she opened her arms. For a moment he stood and gazed at her body, then harshly he entered her. She screamed, her hands pulling at his back, the metal mask of the helm cold against her face.
Her fingers moved up to touch the metal, stroking the black horns.
His head lifted and she found herself gazing into the eyes within the helm. Then the drugs overwhelmed her and she slid into darkness, her last thought a strange one.
In the lantern light Philip’s green eyes seemed -impossibly – to have changed to blue.
The Temple, Summer, 357 BC
Derae awoke just before noon. Throwing back the sheet, she moved to the window, her heart light. She had seen Parmenion and she had destroyed the plans of Aida. Today she would leave the temple and journey to Macedonia, there to await Parmenion’s return.
She knew now that he still loved her, and they would at least have many years to enjoy together. She felt young again, full of life and laughter.
It had been so easy to drug Philip’s wine. All the years of fear had been so unnecessary.