Free Woman Who Loved the Moon by Elizabeth A. Lynn

the surface of a puddle, smashing them to splinters against the rocks. I wish I could wish for that, she thought.
    “What are you thinking...?” said Akys.
    “About Rys.”
    “The rumors...”
    “Suppose,” said Jael carefully, “suppose they’re true.”
    Akys lifted on an elbow. “Do you think they are?”
    “I don’t know. They frighten me.”
    “We’re inland, a little ways anyways, and this village is so close to Her mountain. They wouldn’t dare come here.”
    Jael shivered.
    “You dream about it, don’t you?” said Akys. “Sometimes you cry out, in your sleep.”
    Later she said, “Jael, could you go back home?”
    “What?”
    “To that place you came from, in the west, I forget its name.”
    “Cythera.”
    “Yes. Could you go back there? You’d be safer there, if the men of Rys do come.”
    “No,” said Jael, “I can’t go back. Besides, I know you won’t leave this place, and I won’t leave you.”
    “That makes me happy and sad at the same time,” said Akys.
    “I don’t want to make you sad.”
    “Come close, then, and make me happy.”
    They made love, and then slept, and woke when the stars were paling. The quilt was wet beneath them. They ran through the dewy grass to the cabin, and pulled the dry quilt around them.
    Jael went back to the cave the next night.
    This is madness, she told herself on the way. You cannot be two people like this; you cannot be both the Goddess and Akys’ lover. But around her the dark forest gave no answer back, except the swoop of owls and the cry of mice, and the hunting howl of a mountain cat.
    She went first to the lumenings, but they were dark. In all the months she had stayed away, no messages had come. Next she checked the spyeyes. Ships spread their sails across the water like wings, catching the wind, hurrying, hurrying, their sails dark against the moonlit sea. She calculated their speed. They would reach the coast of Mykneresta in, perhaps, four days. She contemplated sending a great fog over the ocean. Let them go blundering about on reefs and rocks. If not a fog, then a gale, a western wind to blow them back to Rys, an eastern wind to rip their sails and snap their masts, a northern wind to ice their decks... She clenched her teeth against her deadly dreaming.
    She waited out a day and a night in the cave, and then went back to Akys.
    The witchwoman was sitting at her table with a whetstone, sharpening her knives.
    “You have some news,” said Jael. “What have you heard?”
    Akys tried to smile. Her lips trembled. “The runner came yesterday, while you were gone. They have sighted ships, a fleet. The villages are arming.” Her face had aged overnight, but her hands were steady. “I walked down to the forge and asked the smith for a sharpening-stone. I have never killed a man, but I know it helps to have your knife sharp.”
    “Maybe they will not come here,” said Jael.
    “Maybe.” Akys laid down one knife, and picked up another. “I went to the Lady’s pool yesterday, after I heard the news.”
    “And?”
    “There was nothing, no sign. The Lady does not often speak, but this time I thought She might... I was wrong.”
    “Maybe She is busy with the fleet.”
    Akys said. “We cannot live on maybes.”
    “Have you had anything to eat today?” said Jael.
    Akys stayed her work. “I can’t remember.”
    “Idiot. I’ll check the snares. You make a fire under the pot.”
    “I don’t think I set the snares.”
    Jael kissed her. “You were thinking of other things. Don’t worry, there’ll be something. Get up now.” She waited until Akys rose before leaving the little hut.
    She checked the snares; they had not been set. I should never have stayed away, she thought. She stood beside a thicket, listening for bird sounds, keening her senses. When she heard the flutter of a grouse through grass she called it to her. Trusting, it came into her outstretched hands, and with a quick twist she wrung its neck.
    She brought the