Pherenike - Chapter 64

Whenever Pherenike headed to that cave that was akin to the tombs of ancient shamans, Deucalion’s priests would report the news to Paetusa. However, they considered it not urgent. It was a mere report without purpose, nothing of significance.

By the time the leisurely news reached Paetusa, Pherenike was usually about to leave the island.

Even if Deucalion hurriedly spurred his horse from the mainland to find his boat, he ended up diligently heading towards an empty island.

After missing each other multiple times, they realized the flaw clearly. But they couldn’t rush the lazy birds.

Even the slightest clue couldn’t leave the cave’s vicinity.

Thus, they decided not to rely on any news.

And simply went to the island whenever they missed each other.

The places they had stayed always bore traces of their waiting for one another.

Even if they couldn’t meet, at least those traces were visible. Nothing on the deserted island erased their marks.

Pherenike left various signs in the forest, hoping Deucalion would recognize them, and she carved dates on the closest tree to the cave’s entrance where he would be.

He did the same, marking the trees with dates.

Their dates often missed each other. According to the records on the trees, there were times he came the day after she left, and times she arrived on the afternoon he departed.

They missed each other by such narrow margins, hardly ever meeting. It was a terrible rendezvous.

Maybe we go to that lonely island to miss each other.

Disappointed by the island’s emptiness at the maze’s end, breathing the empty air of the forest, yet briefly relieved that you weren’t still waiting for me… and then, looking at the dates carved on the trees, rejoicing over your long past waits.

Searching the forest for traces of all your last days spent there, seeing everything on the island as if seeing you, Deucalion.

Then, returning to the beginning to find the parchment letter you wedged under a rock at the base of the tree…

Sitting under the tree where Deucalion sat and reading his letter, she felt for a moment as if she had burrowed into his embrace. Maybe that was enough to make everything alright, even if it was just a fleeting feeling.

What he captured in writing was nothing but love. During the times when it seemed they would never part, he sometimes harbored a ticklish tenderness he never dared to voice. As years passed, his language grew more fervent.

In contrast, Pherenike, while staying on Ogygia, waited a long time for Deucalion to appear, surrounded by the sea he never came from, his letters she had read dozens of times, and the items he left for her by the stream and the cave’s entrance, without writing anything in return.

The prince had cleared a path in the wild forest for his wife, after realizing she crossed through the bushes to gaze at the eastern sea he would come from.

Pherenike, for instance, created most of the stories to tell him while wandering those paths.

Excluding, of course, the helpless details of wasting her days gazing at the sea he did not return from.

She preferred to tell him in words rather than letters, cherishing the moment her voice reached him, spreading joy across his parched face.

The island was like this without you. You should hurry to the north to see the white wildflower fields. Today, birds sat on the cliff for a long while. I love the path you made. Because of you, I end up wandering the island all day…

As she accumulated stories in her mind, days passed, and ended without Deucalion’s arrival.

It was only then that Pherenike would return inside the cave, illuminate everything brightly with her Althea, and begin writing down all those details on parchment laid on a flat rock.

And then, as if adding something utterly unimportant, she penned down stories of Lykke—the palace.

Initially, it truly wasn’t important. Nobody in Lykke believed her anyway.

But gradually, the stories edged closer to Actor’s core.

Pherenike slithered quietly to the lands close to Actor, eventually climbing up his legs and thighs.

These were stories that even the deeply-rooted spies of Thasos in the court couldn’t uncover. She recorded her observations as if she was nothing to Actor, and even to Deucalion, she seemed insignificant.

Her mouth already harbored venomous teeth, ready to bite the moment she decided where to strike.

When Paetusa had completed all preparations.

Since all this was out of love, she did not speak of love like a mere man.

The bright star signaling the end of winter, Arcturus, began to rise above the horizon at dusk.

The sky, by habitually raising this star in the evening, announced to humans the end of the coldest and laziest season. Signaling the winter was ending and it was time to prepare for spring.

After the star appeared, the remaining winter was very short. Now, people awaited the return of the swallows.

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*Arcturus: A principal star in the constellation Boötis. It was one of the stars that was highly regarded by the ancient Greeks.