In the Shadow of Lakecrest(51)
“Such a wish can be granted,” Zeus told her, “but you will pay a heavy price. In exchange for your freedom, you must vow to remain a maiden of pure virtue. You will never marry, never feel a man’s touch. You will renounce, forever, any chance at love.”
Artemis agreed. She forswore the palaces of the gods and lived off the land, content with the earth’s riches. She dressed for ease, not the eyes of others, in a leather tunic and thick-soled, sturdy boots. She was joined in her travels by a faithful band of fellow virgins, all sworn to protect each other’s honor in a fellowship of trust. It was an idyllic life, until one man nearly destroyed it.
Actaeon was a hunter—some said the greatest of them all. As tales of his exploits spread, he dared boast he was better than Artemis. When such whispers reached her ears, Artemis did not refute them; better she remain an unseen threat than a face-to-face rival. Silently, she tracked Actaeon’s whereabouts and shadowed him as he stalked a boar. She saw the attributes that made other women swoon: the arms strengthened by bouts with wild animals and the proud strut that signaled mastery. But Artemis was never one to lose herself in a man’s looks. Her only male companion, Apollo, was the epitome of male beauty. How could any other man compare?
No, it was Actaeon’s skill she admired. He brought his dagger down with such precise aim that the boar was felled with a single blow. She wondered what it would be like to hunt alongside such a man rather than hide from him, to have a partner who matched her own talents. But she kept her distance. Not knowing was the price of the life she led.
As she stole away, Artemis’s thoughts were so caught up in Actaeon that she made a fatal mistake. For once, she did not focus all her senses on her surroundings, and she did not notice that Actaeon had begun tracking her. He followed her deep into the forest, eager for a glimpse of the mysterious huntress at work. He heard voices, laughter, and the splash of water. Carefully, silently, he slipped forward and stole a glance from between the trees. There, he beheld an amazing sight: Artemis, naked, bathing in a secluded pond. Actaeon was instantly, tragically entranced. For the mighty huntress who could kill with her bare hands was also a goddess, the sister of Apollo, and her loveliness was a wonder to behold. Actaeon gasped, and the sound froze Artemis with horror.
Shame, dark and fierce, swept over her, and any pleasure she might have taken in Actaeon’s admiration was quickly smothered by fury. So quickly it appeared but an instant, Artemis’s handmaidens covered her nakedness and stood at the ready with bows and arrows in hand.
Weaponless, but no less fearsome, Artemis called on all her divine powers and cursed Actaeon for looking upon what no man should see. With one enraged glare, he was transformed into a stag. Horrified, Actaeon stared at his reflection in the water. The boastful hunter had become a beast. He turned and ran, leaping around the trees in search of escape, but all too soon he heard the zealous barking of his own hounds, set upon his scent. They raced after him, hungry for such a prize and well trained by the man they chased. They nipped at his legs, then leapt up and sank their teeth into his flesh. Actaeon fell and was torn apart by his most faithful companions. With his last breaths, he felt the torment he’d brought upon so many other creatures.
Artemis stood over the bloody remains of the man who’d come close to stealing her prized innocence. She looked up and saw her brother beside her. He had come to offer the rescue she did not need.
“Let this death be a lesson to all,” Artemis vowed. “The rage of a woman shamed shall know no bounds.”
Apollo stared at his sister, the quiet girl who had begged to join his excursions and listened obediently to his pronouncements. For the first time, he saw the powers of destruction at her command, and he did not know whether to be frightened or proud of the woman she had become.
I remembered that Cecily called Matthew and Marjorie the divine twins, but they hadn’t even been born when she wrote this story. Had Cecily imagined herself as the virgin huntress, content in her solitude? Was Jasper the brother, horrified by his sister’s brutal powers?
I shut the magazine and turned off the light. Eventually, I drifted into a dream where I was running through a forest, chased by howling creatures I couldn’t see. Ahead was a clearing. Safety. In a swirl of color and sensation, I saw chunks of flesh spread across the grass, the rotting remains of a bearded man. Obadiah? A sticky layer of blood pressed against my bare feet. The screams rang out again, and I realized with a sudden, sick certainty that it wasn’t wolves or dogs. It was a horde of women, coming for me.
I woke with a start, heart pounding. Light poured through the windows; I’d forgotten to pull the drapes the night before. I heard distant footsteps, children chattering. Hurriedly, I got dressed and smoothed my hair. If I caught one of the morning trains from Union Station, I’d get to Cleveland before dark.
“Eva!” I called out from the top of the stairs. No answer. I walked down, into the deserted foyer, and followed the sound of voices toward the back of the house. Peering through the doorway of a large sitting room, I saw Eva on a couch, holding her littlest in her lap. One of the other children was running back and forth with a rubber ball. Eva saw me and stood, shifting the baby to her hip. Her eyes darted toward the part of the room out of my view.
I hadn’t realized until then that she had a guest. Hannah.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
“Come along,” Eva said, shooing her children out. As she passed me, she murmured, “I had to call. I knew they’d be worried.”