Priestess of the Aegean: Book One: Fortuna's Magic

By Katarina Soul

Over two-thousand years ago, on the Aegean island of Chios, a stranger wrapped a newborn in mandrake leaves, placed her in a woven basket, and abandoned her on the doorstep of a seafaring sorcerer’s home. Ancient magic ruled the daily lives of merely a handful of Ionians, while cruel slavery imprisoned the masses.

My destiny was cast; would I mature into the rattle of chains around my ankles, toiling in the poisonous malachite mines? Or could I conjure magic powerful enough to plot my ingenious escape off the island, and flee from a prearranged marriage to the vile Themistocles?

In secret, I learned the forbidden recipes in Stavros’ Sacred Text: how to harvest occult mandrake roots with the help of Spartacus, my hunting dog, and how to create coveted incense to rid a haunted trireme of lingering demons.

In time, I concocted a signature love potion, and handcrafted worry beads out of malachite and copper, talismans treasured by war-torn mariners. Our Persian enemies encroached by land and by sea, determined to suppress our budding democracy. The Spartans grew stronger to the south, while Aegina’s general postured for naval supremacy, pitting Greek against Greek.

I had to stop them all in their misguided tracks.

Over time, I mastered telekinesis-moving objects with my mind. On Lesbos, I met the old crone, Selene, and Sappho, the love poet who taught me secretive invocations of Aphrodite, the goddess of love. It was treacherous for a slave girl to invoke Apollo, the god of prophecy, in order to see into the future--but I had to risk everything. To reunite with my beloved Demetrius, I would journey to the brink of Death.

While I tried to solve the mystery of my birth roots, three men triangulated separate paths of alchemical devotion; before the Persian Wars were over, one would die, another would become my devoted friend, and the third would capture my unbridled affection.

If only our gods would allow it.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Katarina Soul
• Release date: Mar 24, 2012
• ISBN: 9781476167329

Katarina Soul

Katarina Soul is a Greek/American born in the USA after her maternal grandmother escaped the Turkish invasions of the 1900's and stowed away on a slave ship bound for America. Katarina is an independent author of several E-books in Amazon's Kindle store and here on Smashwords. Her Priestess of the Aegean trilogy blends historical fiction with adventure, love, magic, alchemy and mythology. Book One: Fortuna's Magic Book Two: The Etheric Realm Book Three: The Elixir of Life. This ancient historical series takes place in Greece in 500BC during the Persian wars and entertains both young adult and adult readers. Dr. Soul is a naturopathic physician, a holistic healer using only natural remedies:healthy nutrition, herbs, flower essences and homeopathy. She is also a lifelong metaphysician and helps clients see into their bright futures. She can be reached at: [e-mail]

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Priestess of the Aegean

Book One

Fortuna’s Magic

Copyright 2012 by Katarina Soul

Smashwords Edition

Text copyright ©2012 by Katarina Soul

All rights reserved.

The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the author is illegal, and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

Acknowledgments:

Photography & graphics © 2012 by William Almodovar Jr. & Katarina Soul

Other E-Books by Katarina Soul

Priestess of the Aegean-Book II: The Etheric Realm

Priestess of the Aegean-Book III: The Elixir of Life

New titles coming in 2012:

Cyber-Ella-An Internet Dating Fiasco

Confessions of a Fortune Teller

The Alchemy of Wellbeing

Disclaimer: All of the recipes and characters in this book are a work of fiction. None of these recipes are meant to be tried. Some herbs are poisonous. Let the story herein remain in your imagination only, and not in your kitchen.

Ancient Greece 500 BC

For the Divine Priestess in your Soul:

Work your Magic,

Invoke your Spirit Guides &

Free your everlasting Love.

Prologue

Ancient magic ruled the daily lives of merely a handful of Ionians, while cruel slavery imprisoned the masses. Over two-thousand years ago, on the Aegean island of Chios, a stranger wrapped a newborn in mandrake leaves, placed her in a woven basket, and abandoned her on the doorstep of a seafaring sorcerer’s home.

My destiny was cast; would I mature into the rattle of chains around my ankles, toiling in the poisonous malachite mines? Or could I conjure magic powerful enough to plot my ingenious escape off the island, and flee from a prearranged marriage to the vile Themistocles?

In secret, I learned the forbidden recipes in Stavros’ Sacred Text: how to harvest mandrake roots with the help of Spartacus, my hunting dog, and how to create coveted kyphi incense to rid a haunted trireme of lingering demons. In time, I concocted a signature love potion, and handcrafted worry-beads out of malachite and copper, talismans treasured by war-torn mariners. Our Persian enemies encroached by land and by sea, determined to suppress our budding democracy. The Spartans grew stronger to the south, while Aegina’s generals postured for naval supremacy, pitting Greek against Greek.

I had to stop them all in their misguided tracks.

Over time, I mastered telekinesis--moving objects with my mind. I met old crones and love poets who taught me secretive invocations of Aphrodite, the goddess of love. It was treachery for a slave girl to invoke Apollo, the god of prophecy, in order to see into the future--but I had to risk everything. To reunite with my beloved, I would journey to the brink of Death.

While I tried to solve the mystery of my birth roots, three different men triangulated separate paths of alchemical devotion; before the Persian Wars were over, one would die, another would become my devoted friend, and the third would capture my unbridled affection.

If only our gods would allow it.

I. Mandrake

Fareast of Athens, the Despina dropped anchor at Emporios, a busy trading port of Chios. Egyptian slaves unloaded several amphorae of olive oil onto wooden carts pulled by donkeys. Woven trunks brimmed with treasured spices of cinnamon, nutmeg, and saffron. The chained masses hauled baskets stuffed with linens and exotic mercantile upon their shoulders as they shuffled to the top of the hill overlooking Kalamoti Bay.

Be careful with those amphorae, ne? Stavros cautioned his first mate. I have sailed the Despina too many miles to injure these aromatic spices because of your clumsiness. Place them gently with the others. The weary seafarer bit down on the tip of his pipe, and inhaled his herbal smoke with relish. Reorienting his land-legs, Stavros arched his back and gazed at the cobalt sky.

Dark-skinned men shackled in chains diligently unloaded cypress wood, copper and bronze, the building materials for Hellenic triremes and their hundreds of oars which needed urgent carving. As he ambled toward his herbal shed, Stavros bumped into his only son, Paros.

What news do you bring? Paros eagerly asked.

Our neighbors to the south in Naxos foolishly behave! The people exiled the aristocrats who appealed to Aristagoras, a man striving to evolve as the next ruler of Naxos. He plots to obtain cooperation of the satrap of western Asia. I fear a revolt is brewing, my son.

Are we in danger? Paros blinked his brown eyes and mopped the sweat from his grimy brow with a torn rag.

In my last Vision, I saw Aristagoras laying down his supreme power on the mainland, in Miletus; he will allow the people to reign themselves. Stavros exhaled a perfect smoke ring.

Will the people of Naxos know how to rule themselves?

You ask a good question, my son. A new democracy comes to Ionia, and challenges our Aegean islands. It is our destiny to embrace it; but I am convinced we will have to fight for every bit of it!

Will we revolt against the tyrants of Athens? Paros asked hesitantly.

I am not worried about those fools. It is King Darius who is eager to thrust us into Persian subjugation. This upset in Naxos will cascade a most unfortunate chain of events. We must prepare for war!

The men stood like sentries in the noonday sun. Sweat poured down their backs as slaves shuffled by with goods to be bartered over the well-worn tables in the agora. Their leg irons clinked along the path, kicking up dust.

How are things in the mines? Stavros asked.

The malachite is in good supply. But we have lost too many slaves to sudden death. I fear the walls need reinforcing. We cannot withstand another earthquake.

Take some of the linens I have imported and fashion masks around their mouths and noses. It is the toxic malachite dust which kills them, Paros; you cannot afford to lose more slaves.

Paros mused over his suggestion. How must we prepare for battle?

Leave that to me. I prayed for a miracle, he paused and exhaled another smoke ring. I have a strong hunch our gods are listening.

Stavros padded up the trail to his secret shed and stopped abruptly to find an infant wrapped in mandrake leaves inside a basket left upon his doorstep. No one witnessed who abandoned the basket on the hottest day of the summer solstice, when Persia plotted nefariously against us.

Who are you, small one? Stavros stared into my ebony eyes and examined me. Ah, it’s a girl. Your timely arrival will bring good luck to all of us. I will call you Fortuna. Yiasou Fortuna! Welcome to Chios. He smiled as he kissed my tiny forehead.

When Paros discovered my arrival, he exploded: We cannot keep her! Take Fortuna to the agora and find a widow to raise her. His wife, Helena, died while birthing his only daughter, Rosa, who lived only a few days. The local asu said it was a curse that killed them both. Paros wanted nothing to do with children, or women. Content to spend every day below ground, he sifted for large chunks of malachite, and whipped his slaves into exhaustion.

My son, I see great things for this child’s future. You must trust me and not enslave her! Stavros defended.

No. I will arrange a fortuitous marriage for her. Her future is already planned, Paros yelled.

You will do no such thing! Fortuna can mind the herb garden and tend to our goats. Stavros bolted up and loomed large over Paros who slithered away in disgust.

We will tell the masses that you are my granddaughter, understand?

Over the pubescent years of my life, the charade would fool only a handful of villagers. During one full moon, a strange dream haunted me; a brown mask grinned evilly and floated over a blood-red sea where I spied a fishing village ravaged by fire. Spartacus barked and suddenly I awakened. Was this another of my strange premonitions?

The malachite mine teemed with Ionians and Egyptians hard at work. Stavros predicted this season would be fortuitous. He always told me to pay attention to the small things, except for love.

Fortuna, love is a big thing in all our lives. You do not want to be so busy that you miss agape or philia when they grace you with their arrival.

Did you love Amathea?

…with all my heart.

What happened to her? I’d heard gossip of a hidden curse that bewitched every woman on Chios.

Stavros ignored my question. Come! Bring me the water pitcher!

I made the clay pitcher rise, with invisible wings, above the olive wood table where it knocked over a large bowl of pomegranates as it spilled some droplets on his balding head. Paros became enraged.

Fortuna! Do NOT do these tricks around others! You will be cast out of Chios as a sorcerer’s apprentice! You need NO magic to mine malachite! He shoved the table away; the bowl of pomegranates cascaded to the floor. Paros stomped out of the house yelling behind him. You will see. In time I will own you as my slave!

Stavros smirked. Your abilities are growing stronger, my dear. Trust them. Ignore everything else, yes?

As my black hair grew to my waist my powers increased. I missed Stavros when he sailed off for months at a time, and I was left behind with the angry malachite miner, blackened beyond recognition, bossing me around. I would secretly plot my escape from his reign. I knew that I could outsmart Paros in spite of his temper which scorched like the noonday sun.

I spent my summer days sweeping our earthen floor and harvesting the herbal ingredients of my grandfather’s unusual recipes, biding my time. When Stavros sailed back to Chios, he loved to tell me tales of his Aegean travels. I loved the one he acted out about the Spartan thieves who pillaged his trireme in search of gold coins and were enraged to discover a hold full of gold saffron, a lucrative spice more-prized than coinage. Around the Mediterranean, many valued the aroma, taste and enchantment of a good spice. Few merchants realized the unusual recipes concocted from these vital ingredients--except for Stavros, a sorcerer of the Aegean, known to a handful as an esteemed ashipu. He immortalized the value of his strange recipes by writing them down in his Sacred Text.

It is my destiny to bring commoners the flavors of princes and kings, Stavros confessed as he packed his treasured pipe full of herbs from faraway places. One day Fortuna, your part in all of this will be larger than you can imagine.

Why? What can I do? I am a slave girl.

Stavros tilted his head back and laughed, exhaling smoke rings in rapid succession. You will see in time, my child. You will see. He patted my head while our little dog, Spartacus, ran in mad circles chasing his tail. There was something truly wrong with Spartacus; he always fought an invisible demon. Everyone around me, it seemed, was bewitched by something.

Many full moons passed. Industrious men built triremes out of cypress wood. Agitation among the slaves grew as many died in the mines; others yearned to roam the high seas as part of Stavros’ crew, free from toil and the deadly suffocation of mining malachite.

Paros was exasperated. If you take anymore of my strong Egyptians, I will force Fortuna to work in the mines with me.

You cannot do this, Paros. Her destiny is larger than this. Trust me!

Then I swear I will barter her as a bride to a rich aristocrat!

You will do no such thing! Stavros rapped his pipe over Paros’ head. A wad of herbs popped out, almost scalding his hands. I vanished into my small room where I sang to drown out their bickering. While I fiddled with small beads of malachite I daydreamed of my dangerous Aegean odyssey aboard a mighty trireme. I envisioned meeting a handsome rogue, perhaps a loving man devoted to Apollo, or Aphrodite rather than Poseidon.

When white foam peaks dotted the sea, Stavros decided to cook a soup with mandrake roots. For two days through a thunderstorm, he ushered Spartacus and me in front of him, dodging gale winds, and traversing slippery slopes. Our dangerous mission gave me a much needed escape from Paros and his ugly moods.

Our pilgrimage led us to the cliffs on the north side of Chios near the small village of Melanios. The sapphire Aegean dazzled me from our coastal vantage, as Stavros pointed out the signature markings of healing herbs aligning our path.

The leaves are like umbrellas, see? And the fruit, it is a relative of the apple family; some call it Dragon’s Apple. The root looks much like human being! He paused to light his white ivory pipe, carved in the face of a sultan, his most prized possession from a profitable Mediterranean voyage.

You see Fortuna, observe! I tie a piece of fresh lamb to this rope. Then I tie the other end to the leaves of the mandrake. Now, Spartacus will eat this meat and pull on the rope which will loosen the root from the soil. Legend says to never pull up this root myself or I will be cursed. Even go mad!

Will Spartacus go mad instead of you? I blinked.

Ah, my caring child, since Spartacus eats the meat, he will not face the dragon. But he will hear the plant scream when it is pulled from the soil. My ancestors, ah, many of them went mad from such screams! My grandmother taught me to never pull up this plant myself (puff) and you will never do such things either Fortuna, you hear me? Stavros’ hair looked like Medusa’s snakes.

I don’t want to go crazy! Some people call me a lunatic, and say that I was brought to your door by wolves under the full moon. I bit my lip.

Nonsense, you must not believe such tall tales!

Do you know who left me on your doorstep?

My sweet child, I think Aphrodite left you. I never knew such happiness until you came along Fortuna! Stavros pulled me closer to his chiton which reeked of smoky cloves. I sensed a forbidden secret locked inside of him. In time, with a bit of magic, I was determined to find the golden key.

Shh, we let him eat his dinner, and he will help us with a magical mandrake harvest. Spartacus gnashed the meat, and yanked on the rope, while we hid behind a pomegranate tree. The uprooted stalk revealed an eerie face. I cowered in disbelief.

Do not be afraid, Fortuna. What is it?

I dream about this face! I have seen it many times before! I cried.

Bravo! Your Hermetic abilities are growing! This is a good sign. You must not be scared of things which turn out to be those you have already seen (puff) on another dimension.

But I do not understand these things. Why is there a face in this root? I sniffled.

Fortuna, you need only to know of the magical properties of this sacred root. Many have tried to cultivate it--but have gone mad. Once the dog has successfully uprooted it, the plant keeps demons from entering a home if you tack a whole piece of the root to the doorway.

But I thought you were going to make soup with it. I scratched Spartacus on the neck.

Yes! It is a brave recipe one must approach with much culinary skill. Once I crush some of the root into a powder, I take a bit of the powder and boil it in a copper pot full of seawater. When you drink a dish full of this soup, you will see visions that few Mystics see! Stavros stopped to repack his pipe with fresh herbs from within his worn, goatskin pouch.

But (puff, puff) you must not drink too much or you can be poisoned. The slaves across the Mediterranean give a proper portion to queens to feed to their kings. This forces them to fall back in love with them, instead of with their slave girls. Smart trick, yes?

You mean mandrake root is a love potion?

Yes Fortuna. When women eat the apples of the tree, they bear more children.

But, I paused, Is this what killed Helena? Did she drink too much?

No little one. Paros’ wife could not have children for years. After I gave her a small amount of this mandrake, she quickly conceived Rosa.

But then Rosa died. Did this mandrake make her die?

Rosa died from other causes. Spartacus twirled in seven circles.

But how did Death come into our house if the dragon root hung in our doorway? Why didn’t it keep those demons away? What happened? My curiosity persisted.

These are some of the unanswered mysteries of our family, Fortuna. There must be other demons that the eye cannot see--very small substances which bring Death. Stavros lit his pipe again. He tried to enchant me with his tales, but he infused me with fears of being poisoned, or going insane.

Unfortunately, you cannot taste this mandrake soup until you are at least twenty years old Fortuna. He puffed so hard his sunburned cheeks bulged like a blowfish.

I do not want to ever try this mandrake soup! I gazed longingly at Aphrodite’s sea foam, preferring to survey the pretty turquoise horizon to ugly, crooked roots yanked from dangerous soil. I probed Stavros for all of his secrets.

What do you smoke in your pipe?

I combine a very special blend of herbs and spices bartered from all corners of the Aegean. At times they help my divinations.

Do you see my future? I twirled the hem of my tattered linen chiton as I spun around.

Ah, my angel, I see great things for you!

Oh? What things?

Beautiful Fortuna, you will become legendary for your artisan abilities! You will dance with a Persian prince! You will voyage the high seas and bring back treasures no one has ever seen before! He clapped his goliath hands together in excitement as he filled the woven basket with fresh mandrake roots as Spartacus spun in twenty circles or more.

Tell me more! I fiddled with laurel leaves, wove them together into a crown and placed it upon my head. I instantly saw a Vision of two men and two women in laurel crowns standing beside me at a temple; I looked much older as we partook of a holy ceremony.

Ah, my sweet child, you must see these things for yourself, in your own Visions. You will experience such wonderful mysteries, help to build beautiful marble temples…Puff…puff… and so many will love you! You will observe great beauty in many and share mystical adventures with a loving man! This I do know! His clove-scented smoke circled around my head.

How do you know these things?

When you grow older we will experiment with mandrake. You will behold Visions of generations to come, of the people who will use the magic of plants to heal others. There will be many continents inhabited by tribes of asus and ashipus all working to heal mankind for thousands of years.

"And I will see all of this?

Yes Fortuna, you will do more than see it! You are a mystic who will live it, over and over again, for many lifetimes! The huge smoke-ring Stavros exhaled could not dim the shine in his wizened eyes.

I sat speechless. That seems like such a big destiny for a small girl; how will I accomplish anything when I am enslaved on Chios?

Dream my child! Dream and see the Visions that the gods bless you with! Teach others to dream alongside of you. Teach others to love and be loved. This is the greatest work that any human being can do! Stavros sniffed my crown of laurel leaves and kissed it.

In the distance, the orange sun descended into the violet Aegean. It was pomegranate season when red crooked fruits ripened on the limbs of ancient trees.

You see this fruit? It has been revered by the Egyptians and by the Greek goddess Aphrodite. It is the fruit of love. The juices will intoxicate two lovers all day, ah, make them joyous for one another. He winked at me and smiled. And the juices make the best lip rouge, for greater feminine beauty.

I know nothing of love and beauty at my age.

Ah, but you shall—in time. Remember the play that came to the amphitheatre, when the olive trees were pregnant with their harvest?

You mean the play about the tragedy of war?

You have also seen the Greek love stories performed at the amphitheatre?

Paros did not permit me to go alone.

Well, the next time theatre comes to our village, I will take you! A woman with your future must know about love! You must see it through the eyes of Greek Drama. Then you will come to appreciate love when it shows up in your own life, Fortuna. Come! We must head back.

Stavros rose from the ground, picked up the mandrake roots, and added them to our special basket—the same one that brought me to his doorstep thirteen years ago. Spartacus chased his tail in mad circles, stopping often to bark at nothing in the sky. We journeyed up a ragged peak and down another until dusk. As the stars glittered, Stavros taught me about celestial navigation.

Oh look Fortuna! Cast your eyes up at the great bright star, Sirius. Can you see it?

Is it that bluish white one?

Yes, agape mou. The Greeks named this star Sirius because of the scorching and burning light that it gives. When I am at sea at night I search for this star. Then I can always tell where I am.

What are the three stars in a row?

That is the belt of the great Orion. First, you find that belt, then you look south and to the east and there you will find Sirius, right there! His bony finger pointed overhead.

To me it looks like a big dog in the sky.

Some say that this star is twenty times more luminous than our great Sun!

It looks bright tonight. We stopped in an olive grove and rolled out our bedrolls.

We will rise at dawn and get an early passage home before the scorching sunshine. Keep that foolish dog close to you or he may run off! Sweet dreams, Fortuna!

Good night, I yawned, gazing heavenward. Sirius twinkled with white fire. My mind raced with strange thoughts: The stars predict my future, and they will help me escape! Where was Spartacus?

Our basket of mandrake roots slept next to me. One of the roots suddenly fell out onto the ground beside me, grinning evilly at me—just like in my dream. I quickly moved my bedroll to a different corner of the grove. As I drifted off to sleep, an eerie haunting voice called out my name.

Fortuna? Spartacus barked. I nervously quieted him. By sunrise, I was confused. Did I really hear a spirit, or did I dream it?

Apollo’s orange-violet haze streamed over the sea while Spartacus woke us with his constant barking. That crazy dog; what is his problem? Stavros boomed.

He’s barking at the basket of mandrake roots. I informed him. I do not blame him. They scared me last night.

Nonsense, Fortuna. These are dried up, dead roots. There are no evil spirits in them. Many will try to tell you this to scare you. Do not believe them for a moment.

We hiked out of the olive grove to the main path. As we crested the next hill, I spied the silvery canopy of our olive grove. Spartacus scampered in front of us, yapping all the way, as Paros sidled into the courtyard to reluctantly receive us.

Has Stavros been revealing his secrets of the mandrake? he sneered.

Not really. I winked.

Spartacus bolted off to chase a goat through the mastic trees where folklore spoke of mysterious resins expressed from their bark. Mastic resin was a secret ingredient in sorcerer’s potions, one that Stavros sailed to many Aegean ports for a handsome profit.

Sleeker triremes were built as the months passed, more lessons were taught, and many mandrakes were harvested. I could escape slavery when I stayed close to Stavros--but he was away at sea for months at a time.

Knowing tragically little about my past, my Visions pointed me toward a precarious future much larger than my own. Our freedom was at stake. If I failed to master my magic lessons, the mysterious curse upon the women of Chios would never be broken.

Quite possibly Stavros could have penned a curse-removal recipe inside his Sacred Text.

II. Malachite

Stavros sailed the Despina in matters of extreme urgency; my chores became tediously boring and Spartacus grew crazier by the day.

Come Fortuna, you must help me with the malachite. Paros put his arm around my shoulders. At thirteen, you are considered a woman by the villagers; I command you into the malachite mine! Spartacus barked in protest as Paros kicked him with his sandal, sending the dog scampering away into the olive grove, his tail between his legs. I gathered my powers and proceeded to placate his wishes--just this once.

Petrified by the dark and worried about the curse, I preferred to help with the olive harvest in the light of day. Stavros had assured me that my future did not intend to be an underground slave, digging for malachite. Would Paros shackle my ankles in irons? Were the mines responsible for the curse?

Lesson number one: malachite is named for our Greek word mallow which means green herb. Here! Hold this piece. Feel it… get to know the colors, lines, and layers.

It is a pretty green. Is this heart–shaped?

Yes, I carved it that way just for you. Was this all part of an enchantment?

How did it become so smooth?

On the day you arrived at our doorstep, I carved this piece of malachite into a heart. Then I hid it among the rocks down by the sea. For thirteen years the tide has washed over it, and smoothed out all of its mysteries.

This is thirteen years old? Paros nodded. What does it do? I mean…gulp…what is it for?

Ahh…you will discover malachite’s properties in time, cursed little one.

I am not so little; remember you called me a woman.

Paros laughed. "Let us speak of some of