I pivoted, strolled to center court, and sat down. I needed to think, not act. My gut always got me moving before my brain had time to weigh things. And Bubbe knew that.
I needed to gain control, needed to think.
Bubbe had called on the telios for a reason. Each had a special gift or message, but I didn’t think that was the point here. Not really. This was my grandmother’s message, and what was her favorite lesson to lecture me on?
Being an Amazon, accepting who I was.
I stood up. Around me all the telioses had come to life. I ignored them, walked past the leopard pacing to my right, stepped over the serpent that threatened to slither over my foot. Went directly to a table where Pisto had kept paper and pens for charting which Amazon was leading in what competition. I jerked the cap off a marker with my teeth, shoved up my sleeve, and started drawing.
To win you had to battle with your own weapons, define the fight for yourself.
I needed to play on my strengths. I was an artisan. This was how I had to battle.
I drew snow and a den. Mountains and trees. A spring-fed stream and a field filled with clover. I drew everything the telios needed to thrive, then one by one I approached them.
I reached for the fish first, felt the cold splash of water as my hand dipped toward him. Wiggled my fingers, let him swim toward me through my splayed digits. I wasn’t there to catch him or destroy him. I was there to free him. As he shot past my hand, for the briefest of seconds the stream I’d drawn on my arm appeared. He lunged forward. His body whipping back and forth, he went with the current until he reached the edge of the court of our defined battle zone, leapt into the air, and disappeared.
The bull let me approach, followed me to the field, put his head down, and charged out of the court. The leopard leapt into a tree, prowled along the branch until the limb misted away above the line of Amazons’ heads. The hawk soared into a mountain sky. The stag trotted into a forest. One by one all the telioses left, and it was just Bubbe and me alone in the center of the court. By her side stood the wolf. She was smiling.
“Only one left. Do you know what this telios wants? How to free him?” she asked.
He was gray and tan, rangy. His eyes were golden. He sat by my grandmother’s side, completely at peace. He was familiar and beautiful. I suddenly realized I had no idea what he wanted, what would make him feel free. I could fool the other telioses, but I couldn’t fool my own. Couldn’t convince him the fake image of trees or hills were real. Couldn’t make him disappear.
I held out my hands, but he didn’t come. Just watched me with an intelligence that made me doubt everything I’d done, everything I’d ever believed.
Finally I dropped my arms to my sides, too tired to keep playing this game. The desire to beat my grandmother wasn’t enough to keep me going. I wanted a truth from Alcippe, not Bubbe. I was done, let her beat me.
“You know I don’t,” I replied.
“Don’t or won’t?” Bubbe dropped her hand to the wolf’s head, ran her fingers over his fur. At her touch, he looked up. My body tensed, and I knew she was right: I was afraid of facing my own telios, of facing that very important part of who I was.
Her hand dropped to her side, and the wolf disappeared. “You’ve won. Declare your truth,” she said.
I raised my brows. “Me? I didn’t master the telios.”
“No, you didn’t do as I wanted. As I said, you beat me. I give up. I can’t make you accept who you are. You win.”
I grunted. No one could twist words and events like my grandmother. As much as I had wanted to beat her, this wasn’t victory. It was almost like a whole new kind of loss.
“I say you won,” I replied. “Tell me what you want to know.”
Her hand drifted to where her dress closed in the front. She stroked the silk trim. “There is nothing for you to tell me, Melanippe. I know you. I trust you.”
We stared at each other, she with the same relaxed patience she’d shown through the entire ordeal, me without it.
Alcippe stepped forward, raising both hands as she did. “With no clear victory each can demand a truth.” She nodded at Bubbe.
My grandmother studied me for a second, then asked, “Have you ever killed an Amazon?”
The question was direct and one I could answer easily. She could have worded it much more broadly, forced me to admit my connection to the crimes, but she didn’t, and I recognized that, although the Amazons still lining the court didn’t seem to. Every eye was focused on me, every finger tightening around some weapon.
“No.”
The exhale of air was audible, the disappointment and confusion tangible. It startled me, made me realize how thoroughly they had wanted me to be guilty. I was an easy target-no longer one of their own, but not completely foreign either. I was the safe choice, the only one that would mean nothing in their lives would truly change-and with one word, I’d blown that dream to hell and back.
I turned, ready to leave.
“You have a question for me.”
I looked back. Bubbe lifted a brow. “Make me answer it.”
I frowned. What did she want me to ask? What truth did she think needed telling in front of witnesses?
The questions I’d had for Alcippe rushed to my mind. Are you killing the Amazons? Did you kill my son?
Too specific. Yes-and-no answers seldom gave you the full truth.
I licked my lips, concentrated on what I could ask that would tell me something I needed to know and needed to know was true.
“Why did you take this challenge from Alcippe?” It was a simple question, one very likely unrelated to anything, but it was the one that I couldn’t answer alone, couldn’t fathom by myself.
Bubbe smiled; a quick light of victory gleamed in her eyes. “I told you. I’m the one who has the answer to your question.”
I closed my eyes. I’d let her trick me, given her a question she could answer truthfully without revealing anything at all. I didn’t have time for this, had wasted enough as it was. Perhaps now that the Amazons knew I wasn’t the killer, they’d listen to my case against Alcippe.
I turned to face them, but Bubbe wasn’t done.
“Alcippe didn’t kill your son.”
My breath stopped; my eyes focused on nothing.
“He isn’t dead or wasn’t, at least, when I left him at a human hospital.”
There was a whooshing in my ears, a decade of hate rushing up to greet me. I could barely hear the rest of my grandmother’s words-how she’d used magic to make him appear stillborn, taken him from my arms, bundled him up, and delivered him to some human hospital. How no one but she had known. How she’d done it because she loved me, loved Harmony, and hoped with my son out of sight and mind, I’d settle down, get back to who I’d been, accept being an Amazon.
After that it was just static, the annoying buzz of misplaced trust and false love swirling around me. I stumbled from the gym, or felt like I did. I didn’t fall, and no one came after me. I wandered alone to my truck, got in, and drove.
I hadn’t even made it to the first stoplight before flashing lights glared at me from my rearview mirror. Madison cops aren’t big on traffic stops; I was instantly wary. I pulled over anyway.
Reynolds stepped out of the unmarked car. I stayed in the truck, my fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly I was surprised it didn’t snap from the pressure.
“What are you doing?” he asked.
I stared out my windshield; a new crack was forming where a rock had hit it on my last journey to the safe camp. I should have had it filled. Too late now.