Kushiel's Chosen

youngest, Phèdre? I cannot say whither you are bound."
    I made her no answer, for I had none, but looked instead at the horns of consecration atop the Palace, rearing upward to gore the sky. The folk of the Cullach Gorrym, the Black Boar, had claimed too to be Earth's eldest children. Who was to say? Mayhap they were one and the same, when one came to it. There are truths and truths. "My lady, I have always been told I bore an ill-luck name, but Oeneus Asterius the Hierophant suggested to me that I did not know the truth of that tale, and you yourself bear an equally ill-starred name, for Pasiphae was mother to the Minotaur, do I not mistake my history. Is it not so?"
    "It is so, and it is not so." Pasiphae reflected, and answered me at length. "Always, there has been a conflict between earth and sky, old and new. Mother Dia endures, but her sons, ah! Ever do they seek to cut the cord that binds them to Her, and yet ever do they fear begetting their own successors. It was Ariadne the Most Holy who betrayed her Mother's son, giving him unto the blade of Theseus the Achaian. And as my namesake Pasiphae prayed for the means to redeem this tragedy and the loss of her child, Zagreus did answer, who is called lacchos by the Achaians, and bears the gifts of insight and madness. Himself, he claimed Ariadne, whose fate you know-and 'twas your namesake, Phaedra, who took revenge on the supplanter, Theseus the Achaian, offering herself as sacrifice that the supplanter's son might be slain by his own father's curse, bringing the circle to close in Mother Dia's lap. Thus do we honor her memory, and thus did Zagreus grant us this gift, that we might be cleansed of the evil we had done. The Achaians tell the tale otherwise, and their poets are the ones the world has heeded, but here at the heart of the world, we hold to the ancient truths." She tilted her head at me. "Do you understand, now?"
    "No," I said softly. "A little better, mayhap. I don't understand this business of jealous gods slaying one another
    and fearing their own offspring. It is not so, with Blessed Elua and his Companions."
    "No?" Pasiphae smiled gently. "And yet, from what you tell me, I think your Kushiel the Punisher has gotten a scion he fears."
    I remembered Melisande's words, and shuddered. Kushiel has chosen you, Phèdre, and marked you as his own. To toy with you is to play a god's game. "Mayhap," I murmured. "But I am only mortal, my lady, and I am trying to save the throne of my Queen, to whom I have sworn loyalty, and I would like also to save the life of my friend, whose men died in the effort of rescuing me. Let the gods claim what they will; my allegiance lies with those I have known and loved. And do you speak against it, I will say, Blessed Elua preached the same."
    "That," said Pasiphae, "is what makes him so interesting." Rising, she walked to the edge of the terrace, where the fisherfolk below could see her and stretch out their hands, beseeching her blessing. She gave it freely, opening her arms to them, and the lowering sun limned her in light. I had gotten over the shock of our first meeting, but still her presence filled me with awe. It is a different world, Kriti. The setting sun laid a burning path on the water, and I saw in the caverns that riddled the harbor walls a flicker of white robes, betokening the presence of initiates. It was they who had sounded the gongs upon our arrival.
    So I had learned, although I may say too that those caverns are ancient, beyond even the remembering of the House of Minos. They have been used as dwelling places since first man struck two flints together, crying out in awe at the blue spark that resulted. But it is a sacred business, this, and best not spoken.
    The lower rim of the sun's disk sank below the horizon and Pasiphae lowered her arms, turning back to me. "Your Elua does as he wills," she said gently. "But this is my place, and this is my gift. Tomorrow Kazan Atrabiades will undergo the thetalos, and if Mother Dia wills it, he will survive. I grant you leave to attend the ceremony, if you will it. Do you so choose?"
    I shivered in my skin, and knew her words for truth. "Yes, Pasiphae. I will attend."
    On the following day, I did not see her at all, nor Kazan, whom I had not seen since he had been secluded. I went instead to the harbor of the Temenos, and spoke with Tor-mos and Glaukos, who were overseeing the repairs to our damaged vessel. That, at least, was well done; the Kritians are great