Read Online Bring Down the Sun by Judith Tarr - Free Book Online Page B

sound was the spell, the slow rise and fall like the breathing of a great beast.
    She had seen this in dreams. The oracle had given it to her, this vision, this truth that shaped everything she would be.
    She laid her hands on the Bull’s breast. His heart beat hard. So did hers, but she was not afraid. She was dizzy with exaltation.
    This was the great rite, Hieros Gamos, the sacred union of the Mother and Her chosen. The Bull looked down at her with fierce blue eyes. She laughed aloud and mounted him there, locked her legs around his middle and took him deep inside her.
    There was pain, but it was nothing. For every great victory there was a price. That was the world’s way.
    He bore her weight easily, held her in his strong arms and lowered her to the ground. It was softer than she had expected: grass grew in a circle there. Its sweetness mingled with his heavy musk and the sharp green scent of myrtle.
    He wanted to take her as a bull the cow, but she would not suffer that. Face to face and breast to breast, like equals, they worshiped the Mother in all Her glory.

Nine
    Polyxena sat enthroned in the Mother’s stead, clothed in flowers. Priests and pilgrims brought her offerings of flowers and fruit, sweet cakes and strong wine.
    The Bull and his companions danced for her. They put on armor and filled themselves with wine and danced the wild, clashing dance that was sacred to the Great Gods and the Divine Brothers.
    It was a vauntingly male thing. Polyxena, raised in a staider observance, was mildly shocked. Yet her body loved the ferocity of it, the leaping and stamping and the clangor of bronze. When they raised their war-cry, she gasped; then she laughed.
    It was a splendid noise before the Mother. But they danced it for her—for Polyxena, the living woman behind the Mother’s mask.
    *   *   *
    With the dawn, Polyxena returned to her mortal self. The terrace of the Mystery was strewn with bodies, sleeping tangled in one another or drowned in wine. Even the priests had given themselves up to the rite.
    There was wine enough in her, but it made her mind clearer instead of clouding it. She left the throne, treading lightly on trampled garlands and bruised petals. The morning air was cool on her bare skin. Between her legs she ached, but that was almost pleasurable.
    The Bull lay sprawled by the riverbank in a circle of snoring men. In this pale light his head was obviously a mask, though wonderfully wrought. It had fallen askew.
    Gently she took off the mask of the Mother and laid it on the grass beside him. Then she worked the Bull’s mask from his shoulders.
    His hair was flattened and tousled, his cheeks flushed above the curls of his beard. She brushed his lips with a kiss.
    His eyes sprang open. His hands caught her before she saw them move.
    She made no move to pull away. His scowl lightened. He did not let her go, but he held her somewhat less fiercely.
    â€œYou’re not afraid of anything, are you?” he said.
    â€œShould I be afraid of you?”
    She asked the question honestly. From his expression, he had to be sure of that before he answered. “Cross me and you’ll regret it. Challenge me and I’ll fight back—and if you blink, I’ll win. I don’t fight to lose.”
    â€œNor do I,” she said.
    â€œWe could kill each other,” he said as if to himself.
    â€œOr we could fight side by side.” She slipped free of his grasp but stayed where she was. “You can’t be any less than a king.”
    â€œWhy? Are you a queen?”
    â€œMy sister is,” Polyxena said.
    He sat up. It was fascinating to see how he changed from the bull in rut to the king in council, eyes narrowed as he considered all the possible sides of her. “Epiros?”
    She nodded, then said in response, “Macedon.”
    It was not a question. He grinned, baring strong teeth. “It seems we’re the only proper royals here this