Goddess of Yesterday Read Online Free PDF

until they hit the rocks.
    The three marauders who had found my path now found me. The first man drew back his spear. I was close enough to see that he was missing teeth and his beard was filthy and his muscles strong. I bolted to the dizzying edge of the cliff and stepped off.
    I had not done it correctly.
    I had not thrown myself away from the jagged edges, but just tipped over. I would be torn to pieces on jutting rocks and finished off when I snapped my neck hitting the water. But just in case, I tucked myself into a ball and hit the water kneecaps first and sank like an anchor stone. The smack of the sea was as blunt and flat as the slap of an angry hand. I felt broken.
    Down and down I went, and then I opened myself up and began swimming. Pain was present, and terror, but the desire for air was greater than these. I broke the surface, gasping in blessed air and blinking salt water out of my eyes.
    There was a sharp
squiff
, like snakes. An arrow pierced the water at my side.
    Squinting in the brassy glare of sun, I looked up. The three pirates stood on the cliff edge, laughing down on me and stringing their bows.
    I dove underwater, forcing myself to swim toward the pirates. If I could get close to the cliff, I could shelter beneath the rocky overhang, like an octopus in its cave. I used my arms to shovel the water away from my face and push it behind me, in a stroke the shell divers had taught me.
    When I came up, I was not entirely sheltered and had todive a second time. I waited in the shade of the rocks for some time before I ventured a peek. The cliff edge was empty. I was safe.
    Siphnos was burning. The stench of the fire as it took flesh and oil was equaled in horror only by the screams of the wounded.
    Then from the sand where the ships were beached came a triumphant yell. “I see him! He's over there! In the shallows below the cliff ! He's mine!”
    I was a her, not a him, but a girl of twelve is easily mistaken for a boy of twelve when both wear simple tunics. And few girls willingly throw themselves off cliffs.
    “Let him drown!” yelled somebody else. “One boy doesn't matter. There are still men to fight!”
    I strained to comprehend their Greek, which was heavy and sluggish.
    The first voice moved closer. “Nobody gets away from me.”
    Medusa was killed on an island near Siphnos. I do not have Medusa's blood, but I wished I did. I would have turned this barbarian to stone with a scream and the force of my eyes.
    Luckily I knew the waters well. There were rocks piled where once, long before, a stone jetty had stretched. Earthquakes destroyed it in the time of my king's grandfather. I didn't like it out there because there were so many octopuses. The boys liked to walk all the way out the sunken jetty—looking as if they could walk on water—and fish for octopus.
    Weaving in and out of the fallen stones, I swam underwater, eyes open and lungs bursting. When I reached the only two stones that still protruded from the water, Icame up for air, praying to my goddess that I would not be seen.
    If I had hair as dark as Callisto's, I would look like a rock or a seal. But my red-gold hair was no asset here.
    The pirate hunted for me, but did not find the sunken path he could have walked on. “I must have killed him,” said the pirate sadly, as if he had hoped to do something worse than kill. Indeed, had he found me alive and a girl, he would have.
    I floated.
    The battle went on.
    I was too close to the enemy ships but I had no choice. On their red sails was stitched a twisted blue fish. It was ugly and unforgettable.
    Standing high on one deck was a watcher, the enemy poet, I guessed, taking note of the action so he could sing later of deeds and valor. Men pirate for treasure, of course, for women and horses and armor. But they also pirate for fame.
    What is better entertainment in the evening than a song about you? Who does not hope for a story so rich that it is sung year after year, and even your