Chapter 119
Pherenike gently took the great lioness’s face in both hands, inspecting her just as one might fuss over a child.
She always did this whenever they reunited after a long time apart. Atalanta seemed quite used to it, patiently lifting each paw in turn like a dog, even rolling over obligingly. When Pherenike had checked her all over, she murmured with a touch of sorrow.
[There are scars here I never knew about, Atalanta.]
[I got treatment for them in time.]
[I can erase the scars for you. Come here.]
[No, I’d rather not. It’s just a dream anyway.]
Atalanta drew back, and Pherenike gave her a faint, ambiguous smile.
[…Is it really a dream?]
[But it’s been so long since we’ve shared the same dream, Nike.]
[Yes, it has.]
[You’ll remember me when you wake up, won’t you? We were on our way to see you, you know. Headed for Lykke…]
Pherenike looked at Atalanta with an unreadable expression and then gave a small nod.
[How did I even end up somewhere I don’t know?]
[Well, I was already here, that’s why.]
[You mean you’re ‘here’ now, in this place?]
[Atalanta, I’m not actually asleep right now.]
Atalanta wrinkled her nose in confusion—a look she often gave when she didn’t understand her master’s words. Pherenike reached out to gently stroke the bridge of the lioness’s nose and whispered.
[You came to wake me before I lost my breath for good.]
In that instant, Atalanta opened her eyes. The vast cave, the endless chests, and Pherenike all vanished—suddenly she was in a nighttime forest, by a river where cavalry horses drank in a long line.
The lioness rose, and a man’s hand appeared from somewhere to softly stroke her head—just like her mistress had done in the dream.
“Let’s move, Atalanta.”
The lioness lifted her head and saw Deucalion smiling gently at her.
“Yes. You’ll see your master again very soon.”
With the casual affection of a man petting a kitten, the prince tickled the lioness’s chin and then turned to leave. It was a moonlit night, but the light was dim. Only the faint glow of the army’s campfires cast shadows behind the tall man as he walked away.
Under the shadow of the departing prince, Atalanta gave her rump a brisk flick with her tail. After scanning the herd for a moment, she spotted the wolfhound Seirios among the horses and settled herself again.
Deucalion soon climbed up onto a nearby rock. Atalanta followed after him. Guarding one’s master was the dogs’ work, but long ago, Pherenike had entrusted Atalanta with a special duty: to protect Deucalion in her stead.
[What do you see from up there?]
Though Deucalion didn’t understand the lion’s tongue as Pherenike did, he seemed to sense her silent question. Without changing expression, he glanced down the mountain, then looked back at Atalanta and gave a slight tilt of his chin.
The lioness leapt up beside him.
Her golden eyes narrowed. In the direction Deucalion pointed with his spear, a distant city appeared—though it wasn’t Lykke, not yet.
With her rounded paw, claws sheathed, Atalanta tapped Deucalion’s spear. He looked down into her eyes.
[What was the name of that place again? Seirios told me earlier, but things are so much harder to remember when he says them…]
As always, when the lioness asked, the prince seemed to read her gaze. He answered slowly, as if speaking to his wife’s lion.
“Ephos.”
Ephos. Atalanta mouthed the name, trying to mimic the human word. If only she’d learned the name before seeing Pherenike in her dream. Then she could have told her how far along their journey they’d come.
“It’s a royal territory.”
She thought she’d have to ask Pherenike later what exactly a ‘royal territory’ was. They would be reunited soon.
“It’s a city on the road to Lykke.”
[So I suppose they won’t exactly welcome you there, will they?]
“No.”
Deucalion replied with a low chuckle, blocking Atalanta’s paw with the blunt end of his spear lest she stray too close to the edge.
“We’ll cross one more mountain before dawn. We’ll be quiet and slow—so quiet Ephos won’t see us. We’ll rest in the woods again before dark, so take your nap then. After that, we’ll reach Lykke soon enough.”
[You’ll see Pherenike again too, Deucalion.]
He couldn’t understand most of her words, but he always recognized Pherenike’s name when the lioness uttered it. Unlike his usual composure, his spear seemed to vibrate at the sound—as if resonating with her.
On the sharpened edge, a blue gleam flickered like the gaze of a wild beast.
“…Atalanta, do you remember what I asked of you before?”
[I do. But…]
“You don’t have to fight with us.”
[But I promised Pherenike I’d protect you.]
“When we reach Lykke, you go straight along the road. You remember it—you’ve traveled it countless times.”
[It won’t look much like I remember, but I’ll know the way.]
That path—when they were all young—had been a secret way, a hidden passage outside the palace that led directly to Axiothea’s quarters.
Atalanta thought back to the sunny afternoon, the day before their departure, when Deucalion had sat her down and told her this story.
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