Free Mood Riders by Theresa Tomlinson Page A

Moon Riders’ skills and strengths were honed. Cassandra grew dark-skinned and muscular, but at the same time a deep sense of contentment seemed to flow from her. Myrina grew stronger and more confident than ever. The two were rarely separated now. They both found themselves a little time for mirror-gazing and were content with what they saw.
    Reseda seemed to be growing fatter and slower. “There may be a baby next spring,” Myrina told Cassandra. “I think I shall be an aunt. Is all well in Troy?”
    “I see that my friend Chryseis thrives, but I rarely look toward Troy,” Cassandra told her. “It is Iphigenia in Mycenae that I fear for, but each time I see her in my dark glass she looks well and pampered. It’s just that I feel she’s not happy.”
    The Moon Riders packed up their camp ready for the southward trek, to find their winter quarters in the warmer clime of Lesbos, the Sacred Isle.
    They set off riding south, but this time instead of returning to Troy, they skirted Mount Ida’s eastern slopes and headed onward through the mountain pass. The narrow rocky route was hard going, and though the horses were sure-footed, everyone seemed to heave a great sigh of relief as they came cantering down the southern slopes. The sea lay before them and the fertile green lands that bordered the shore. Their pace slowed as they came into sight of the Isle of Lesbos.
    “We’ll be making camp here,” Penthesilea told them.
    Myrina was surprised. “But the sun is high in the sky,” she said. “I thought we’d go on and look for boats. We’re so close to the island.”
    Penthesilea shook her head. “We camp here for two nights,” she told them. “Tomorrow is our gathering day. Surely you know about gathering day?”
    Myrina vaguely remembered Gul and Hati talking of such a thing but she’d never taken much notice of what it meant. “Who is it that we gather with?”
    Penthesilea laughed.
    “It is the plants that we gather,” Cassandra said solemnly. “Herbs and flowers for medicine and soothing potions.”
    “That’s right,” Penthesilea agreed.
    “How did you know?” Myrina snapped, suddenly annoyed. She was the one who knew about the Moon Riders, not Cassandra.
    Cassandra shook her head and shrugged her shoulders. “Look at the place,” she said, waving her arm to encompass the whole circling bay.
    Myrina saw what she meant. Lush grasses and wild flowers grew in wonderful abundance, where fingerlike spits of land stretched out into the sea, pointing the way toward distant Lesbos. Great clumps of rare wild lavender flourished there and golden fennel, with its green feathery leaves, grew all about the shore. There were delicate white asphodels, and the tallest hypericums that Myrina had ever seen. Then in the distance the curving land broke up into little islands. All around them washed a turquoise sea, streaked with darker blue and patches of purple where the water was suddenly deep.
    Myrina slipped down from her horse’s back. “Yes, I see what you mean,” she said.
    Just at that moment a great fish leaped up from the water and jumped twice. Then another followed as the Moon Riders pointed at them with delight.
    “See,” Penthesilea cried. “Even the fish welcome us here.”

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

The Coming of Spring

    T HE GATHERING DAY was frantic and exhausting: the Moon Riders tramped through the grasslands, their arms full of wild herbs and flowers. They picked hypericum for wounds and snake bite, bitter rue to strengthen the eyes, small purple flower spikes from the chaste tree that would cool the sweats of older women, and most important of all, the delicate white opium poppy that brought merciful sleep to those in pain.
    Myrina found Cassandra standing amid huge clumps of fennel, still as a statue.
    “What is it?” she asked.
    Cassandra shook her head. “Troy,” she murmured. “The Trojan plains that spread down to the sea are full of fennel. The fishermen and boatmen gather fennel