Melita spent the rest of the day on the beach, invoking the goddess Iris and sending magical birds to let people know she was still alive. Now, all that remained was to wait for rescue. She walked along the beach in the shadow of the trees, enjoying the subtle taste of sea salt in the breeze.

Anything to take her mind off the cave. Don’t think of the cave, Melita. She repeated, thinking of ways she might learn if what the voices said was true. Could she master the slab and open a gateway to Arakos?

Don’t think of the cave.

Divination was a given. Here, away from it all, before trying it near the cave. Then, inside it.

Again, the cave clawed at the edges of her mind.

The voices. Were they what Ptolos heard? Of course, Ptolos, ever self-serving, had listened to their promises without question.

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Don’t think of the cave.

Would it be selfish to bring Arakos back to her? No. And to Aree? A boy needs his father. She traced a big ‘A’ in the sand next to a small one, thinking of her men. But a wave washed away her work.

Arakos would train his son to become a warrior all day. They would come home to a warm dinner she prepared for them.

Melita laughed at the absurdity. She would serve them stolen bread or bland fish boiled to the consistency of gruel. Arakos would praise her gruel like it was ambrosia; she would pretend not to notice him and Aree feeding it to the dogs. And she would kindly accept and praise their kind words, not wanting to eat her own food.

Don’t belittle yourself, Melita. Even burnt bread is better than none. That piglet was delightful! You are getting better. Now, if you could get your two men to this remote island, you could feed them like kings.

And let those poor dogs starve.

She laughed out loud as she lifted her skirt and ran as fast as she could in the warm sand. Running always helped.

She almost outran the voices from the cave.