Hades’ Daughter. Book One of the Troy Game by Sara Douglass

And as I did so, the warmth and laughter of Erith’s family flowed over and about me, warming me through as the fire and the food never could, as they chatted about family matters and the gossip of the town.

The entire mood and sense of the house were unarguably feminine, yet neither Coel nor his two brothers seemed out of place nor even uncomfortable. They melded perfectly into the discussion, much of which was about Coel’s two sisters’ pregnancies, as if conversing about such things was as natural to them as arguing about the strength and sharpness of a sword.

I was fascinated. I’d known of the matriarchal nature of Llangarlian society, but this was the first time I’d been so exposed to it: Ecub’s house had been too riven with underlying tensions for me to feel as much at home as I did here.

Eventually I realized that the family was discussing the two sisters’ yet-to-be-born children as if they

already knew the sex and even the personality of the babies the women carried.

Intrigued, I put aside my now-empty bowl (thanking Erith and her family as I did so), and waded my way into the conversation.

‘How is it,” I asked, leaning forward, “that you know the sex and character of your unborn children?”

Erith, handing Achates to Coel, took my hand, and held it between hers. “It is Mag’s gift to women,”

she said, and explained—as Blangan had once explained—how Mag graced the women of Llangarlia with the knowledge of the sex and character of the child they carried.

‘All Llangarlian women feel Mag in our wombs,” Erith went on. “It is where she lives… although in the past year her presence has been but a whisper.” Her voice was indescribably sad, and for a moment she paused, as if collecting herself.

Then Erith glanced at Coel, and when she looked back to me one of her hands shifted, and rested on my belly. “Do you feel her within you, Cornelia?”

I opened my mouth to deny it, for how could I if I were not Llangarlian born? But then I remembered that night I’d spent in Mag’s Dance, and the dance that I had done without ever being taught, and I was no longer so sure of myself.

‘I don’t know,” I said.

Erith lifted her hand from my belly to my face. Her own face was puzzled, all her humor momentarily gone. “You do have the feel of her about you,” she said. “How odd, for a stranger…”

And again her eyes met Coel’s.

I was now feeling most uncomfortable, as if my flesh were being assessed for market, but then Erith laughed, and my uneasiness subsided.

‘But then you are a mother who loves her child,” Erith said, “and perhaps that is what I feel.”

We talked then of many things: a strange spring where women could beg Mag’s aid in choosing a caring soul for their child; the meaning behind the dangling decorations above our heads; the blight that had struck Llangarlia in the past generation; Coel’s children, and those of his sisters and brothers; the men whom Erith had taken to her bed in order to get her own brood of wonderful children; Erith’s mother, who had been one of the strongest Mothers in Llangarlia when it came to weaving Mag’s magic.

At this last subject the mood grew somber.

‘I doubt any Mother will ever again know Mag in the same manner and depth that my mother did,”

Erith said. “Mag has faded away in this past year. Her power has all but gone. Perhaps as her lover Og’s power waned, so did hers. No one knows. But no Mother has been able to use Mag magic to any great degree since last autumn. We can still touch her, barely, but not as once we could.”

‘Many of us,” Tuenna put in, “wonder if that is Genvissa’s doing.”

There was a silence, and I knew a line had been crossed.

I also realized, if I hadn’t previously, that I had been accepted completely into this community of Erith’s house. This talk was not meant for untrustworthy ears.

‘Genvissa?” I said softly. You are not the only one she terrifies , Coel had said.

‘Who else could have harmed Mag, and Og, so easily?” said Erith. “And who else would it benefit so much as Genvissa? Yes, Genvissa, Cornelia. Our MagaLlan. The woman who is supposed to protect our gods and our land before all else.”

‘She is a Darkwitch,” I said, remembering what Blangan had said. Then, from nowhere, came more words. “Her foremother Ariadne destroyed an entire civilization. Genvissa will do the same here.”

There was a silence, and I knew everyone was watching me.

‘I wish…” I said, and did not know how to finish the sentence; I felt as though something was tearing apart deep inside me.

‘I know,” Coel said very softly, and gathered me into his arms.

G6JMHE RECTANGULAR STONE BUILDING ON THE slopes of Tot Hill was filled with women. They milled about its internal space, their quiet talk a low hum, their movements deliberate, tempered, courteous, their faces gentle, whatever may have been on their minds.

They were the Mothers of Llangarlia, the women who headed each household, who spoke for each family, who gathered here today as they did once a year to discuss how what they had learned from the past would lead them into the future. The oldest of them was a wizened ancient, her back so curved she had to deliberately lift her face upward to avoid continuously studying her feet, her facial features so drooped both her nose and her mouth had collapsed to rest on her chin. The youngest was a woman only barely into her twenties, her belly rounded in pregnancy, her eyes and demeanor respectful of all the experience and wisdom that walked about her.

Every one of them felt the weight of not only her own responsibility in leading and advising her own House, but of her part in their collective responsibility.

Every one of them had heard of the arrival of the Trojans—of their numbers , by Mag!—and on their wish to settle in Llangarlia.

Every one of them had lost sleep in worry over the situation, and yet every one of them here today presented a calm and ordered face to the world, for there was no benefit in panic, and no possible need to push their troubled peoples even further into worry.

Three women had grouped into a corner, their faces as calm as everyone else’s, their eyes as watchful as they studied the other women milling about them.

Ecub, only very recently arrived from her journey from her home next to Mag’s Dance, looked particularly weary. Her face was pale, her eyes dulled with lack of sleep. Nevertheless, her hair was carefully dressed, her wool robe neatly arranged, her shoulders straight, and she held herself tall, her hands folded before her.

Beside her Erith looked even tinier than usual, although in no way diminished.

Their companion was Mais, Mother of one of the Houses closely associated with the forests above the Veiled Hills, one of Loth’s strongest allies, and mother of a daughter who had only recently conceived of her own daughter by Loth.

‘What can we do?” Mais said. “She will destroy us!” Coel had earlier spoken with them, telling them of what he and Loth now knew.

‘She will most certainly destroy us if we speak publicly against her,” Erith said. “Our respect and our loyalty should be to the MagaLlan.”

‘Our respect and our loyalty was to the MagaLlan,” Ecub said, her voice low to disguise its bitterness,

“before that Darkwitch from Crete corrupted that once-remarkable line.” She was dressed in a robe of very deep red wool, and for an instant the red of her robe reflected in her eyes, and Erith shuddered.

‘We cannot speak publicly against her,” she said. “Not yet. This Assembly’s loyalty will still hold with Genvissa, even if what she presents us with today will tear out the heart of Llangarlia.”

‘You would have us smile, and nod, and agree with her?” Ecub hissed.

Erith fought the urge to grind her teeth, smiling and nodding at another of the Mothers who momentarily passed close by.

‘I am saying that there may be better ways to deal with her, and her wicked witchery, than making victims of ourselves by speaking out in this assembly.”

‘Yes?” said Ecub. “How might that be then?”

Erith, who’d had her hands folded before her in the Mother’s traditional posture of calm authority, now dropped them to her side, taking a hand of each of the women beside her. “I think Genvissa has an enemy she may not recognize until it is too late,” Erith said, so very, very softly Mais and Ecub had to lean close to her to hear.

There was a silence, a great stillness.