Pherenike - Chapter 30

Gradually, they came to understand each other’s words. Sometimes, they even taught one another. It was a language unique to them.

Atalanta was an extraordinary lion. Like the old lioness who remembered much, Atalanta sometimes spoke like a very old lion despite being very young.

The tales of the lioness who once was queen over the plains of Karhama were imparted to Atalanta, as if she had been that lioness herself. Atalanta confessed that she couldn’t understand why.

These memories of the old lioness felt like rolling stones in her mind. She never thought of it as her own but sometimes she longed for the plains of Karhama as if her heart had been stolen. The only emotion that she could feel from the old lioness was that. She surely has never tread on it.

[“Do you want to return? To where you came from?”]

Pherenike often asked Atalanta. The lion’s response was always:

[“No.”]

[“But you said you missed it.”]

[“But I would miss you on the plains.”]

It seemed no matter where she was, there was always something she missed.

[“Living is about missing. It’s about foolishly desiring something you can no longer have, dressing it up with a pretty name.”]

According to Atalanta, life and longing were nothing more than pretty dressed up names. She just wanted to continue doing foolish things and live without thinking of herself as a fool.

Atalante spoke about a father whose face she had never seen—or the affectionate voice of the last son she tried to bite and kill, any spiritual warmth related to it. She also talked about her mouth — or how she had talked affectionately to the offspring when she was in her granddaughter’s womb. Or about the tales of old past lions.

According to Atalanta, her mother knew much more than what Pherenike thought.

Pherenike always wanted to converse with them. However, no other animal could understand her words like Atalanta. Her attempts to speak to Atalanta’s mother and sisters in their enclosure were always in vain.

During this time, Atalanta’s mother saw her daughters grow to adulthood and sent them away. The lions bestowed upon the Vassilios’s household received meticulous care, but that was all.

The young head of the household, General Vassilios, had no interest in exotic animals and did not favor them as trophies. They were cared for only because they were gifts from the king. Even the precious daughters of the lions were seen as mere burdens who ate meat.

Money wasn’t the problem. To the General who believed he carried enough sins from the killings on the battlefield, unless it was to cut open the bellies of cows and sheeps to offer to the real goddess, raising decorative lions seemed like an unnecessary luxury.

Separation followed the same course as in the palace.

Unlike her husband, Atalanta’s mother knew that just because something is out of sight, it doesn’t vanish from the world. The world was broader than what her eyes could see, and death was not so simple. It would be convenient if death occurred the moment something disappeared from view, but in reality, countless sufferings could happen out of sight.

Still, they were alive.

Her last daughters hadn’t died; they had merely vanished from her sight. The two daughters who were strong could endure the hardships for a longer period.

Her husband, too, was likely still alive in ‘that place’, having simply disappeared from his view when she left. Although the lioness was wiser than her husband, she was unaware that he had died long ago. She simply believed he was alive somewhere, and thus, everything might be alright.

With this thought, believing he continued to live, imagining the sun rising in his eyes as it did today, as if she had seen his eyes this morning, and one day die thinking that all was well.

The lone lioness hid under a bush where no one could see like a cat. And died.

Pherenike ensured that no one could skin her and let Atalanta send her offspring with a small kiss.

[“What about Deucalion?”]

[“Asleep.”]

Atalanta’s voice seeped into her dreams. Like when she was young, Pherenike leaned against the lion’s side, falling asleep for a while.

[“Are you returning to Lykke?”]

[“No, to the sanctuary.”]

[“When will we see each other again?”]

[“It might be a long time.”]

Atalanta’s steady breathing gently rocked her up and down, cradling her like a baby in a crib.

[“Can’t you take me with you?”]

[“I can’t take you on the way back to the sanctuary. You’re too conspicuous, Atalanta. And I lied to be here.”]

[“What about when you go to Lykke to become the wife of the man with black hair?”]

Atalanta often referred to Actor, using generic terms like a nameless slave in passing. Black hair. Blue eyes. Usually, that’s how she described him.

This was quite haughty, much like the nobles of Lykke, but interestingly, when the haughty lioness spoke of actual slaves, she was quite respectful.

It was easy to tell that Atalanta didn’t like Actor.