The Fortune Teller(27)

His friends noticed me, the overly decorated maiden, as I was about to pass.

One called out, “Aphrodite is upon us! Oh, hail!”

In a moment of panic, I leaned forward and opened the sun parasol on the side of the carriage. Just before the umbrella opened, Ariston’s eyes met mine. Confusion flickered across his face. My heart hammered in my chest as the carriage continued on.

Had he recognized me? What was I doing? I had come so far to find him and now I was hiding behind a parasol, all because I could not bear the possibility of his rejection—that a year might have been too long.

I closed the parasol as we made our way south. I could hear the Fates laughing at my faint heart—to see a future and not have the courage to embrace it. The jostling of the carriage seemed to echo their mirth as the road became rougher under the wheels. Then I realized why. I was going the wrong way.

“Driver, stop!” I leaned forward. “We must turn around.”

Aella’s servant looked back at me. “But we’re almost to Daphne’s Gate.”

“I need to go back, please,” I begged before what little courage I had deserted me. The driver did not seem willing.

“Ionna Callas!” a voice behind us called out. “Daughter of Phileas!”

I looked behind to see Ariston running toward us.

I stood up. “Stop the carriage or I will jump!”

The servant stopped and Ariston was beside us within moments. “You’re in Antioch,” he said, drawing in deep breaths from running. His face was full of wonderment.

“Yes … I am.” My voice was barely a whisper.

“You just left my house?” he asked, confused.

I nodded, now completely mute.

He shook his head, not understanding. “Then why were you running away?”

I stared at my hands, unable to look at him. “I was afraid.… So much time.”

“Ionna.” He took my hand. “How I have longed for this day.”

In his eyes, I could see the same love shining that had been there before, on the day he asked me to marry him. This was Ariston, my Ariston. Time had not separated us. I still had his heart.

*

On that day in Antioch my new life began. Just as I can see you searching for your way, unsure if you should trust the future pulling at you inside, know you will walk the road ahead of you whether you are ready or not.

You have been translating these words, trying to deny that they have been written for you—but they have, Semele. Your life and mine are entangled.





The Chariot

Semele stopped reading. There was no way she had gotten that right. Her eyes returned to the Greek symbols and she translated the line again.

Her name. Ionna had written her name.

She tried to ignore the goose bumps rising on her arms and reminded herself that the name Semele had ancient origins. Her father had picked it.

In Greek mythology, Semele was Zeus’ lover and the mother of Dionysus. She was also the only mortal ever to be the mother of a god. But Semele was killed by Zeus shortly before giving birth, her death brought about by her own foolishness. Zeus had granted her one wish, her heart’s desire, and given his oath he would grant it no matter the consequence. Her wish was to see Zeus in all his glory; however, no mortal could look upon him without bursting into flames. Zeus was forced to keep his promise and show himself, and Semele died by fire. In the end, Zeus rescued the unborn Dionysus and sewed him into his thigh until the baby was ready to be born.

Semele still had no idea how on earth her father had sold her mother on the name. The fact that it also appeared in Ionna’s manuscript had to be a coincidence. She sighed and continued translating.

Your father did not choose your name. Your grandmother did—the one who severed your family tree at the time of your birth to protect you. But you must understand, Semele, that those roots remain.

Semele jumped off the couch as if her laptop were on fire. “Holy shit!” she yelled to the empty room.

A rush of adrenaline coursed through her as she stared at the glowing computer screen, now completely petrified.

Did that just happen? Did a two-thousand-year-old manuscript actually talk back to her?

She ran to the bathroom and splashed water on her face. She had slept only a few hours. Maybe her exhaustion and jet lag were making her delusional. The possibility that Ionna was communicating directly with her violated every law of the universe.

She turned off her computer without even closing the file. She had to get out of her apartment. Now. She grabbed her cell phone and called Bren. He answered on the second ring, and she could hear the happiness in his voice.

“Hey, you.” Then he hesitated. “You’re not calling to cancel tomorrow, are you?”

Semele laughed. Even to her ears it sounded shrill. “No, silly.” She never said “silly.” “I was calling to see if you’re busy tonight.”

“Just waiting for my girlfriend to move in with me,” he reminded her. “Was it my message this morning?”

Semele thought fast. Had he left Emily Dickinson on her voice mail today? She really needed to start listening to those poems.

He began reciting it: “Wild nights—wild nights! Were I with thee—”

She cut him off. “Definitely in the mood for one of those.”

“Seriously?”