Dark Enchantment by Janine Ashbless

Author:Janine Ashbless
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780753519240
Publisher: Ebury Publishing

Chimaera

I FIRST SEE him the night we go to visit the Chimaera.

It’s the fourth day of our honeymoon in Turkey, heading east along the Lycian coast before we double back overland to finish in Istanbul. We’ve been scuba-diving in Kas and we’ve kayaked over the sunken city at Kekova, Keith’s been up parascending – though I had a dodgy stomach that day and cried off – and we’ve waded the Saklikent Gorge and explored Lycian tombs in groves of gnarled olive trees almost as ancient as the stone sarcophagi themselves. This night, after a long day on the water, we arrive as darkness falls at the Chimaera. Other tourists are here too. In legend, this was the home of the fire-breathing hybrid monster, part lion, part goat, part snake. Like pilgrims, we climb the footpath up the hillside, and it’s long and steep enough to make my legs ache a little. We see the flames before we reach them: first one distinct patch then another, on a pale bare hillside.

Flame from the earth.

There’s no eponymous monster in the vicinity now, and the flames that used to be visible to passing ships in the bay below have diminished over the centuries, but still it’s a little eerie. From cracks in the bare limestone the flames issue, in about a dozen places. Some of them are tiny, blue and liable to disappear for long moments; others burn yellow, with a soft roar. We can walk among them, careful not to roast our sandalled feet. We find our own little patch of flames and sit around it like it’s a campfire. People are bringing out chunks of sausage and toasting them; I can smell the fatty meat over the whiff of gas. There’s laughter and chatter. Keith opens a bottle of local wine and pours some into our plastic camping mugs.

We’ve been told that if you extinguish the fire it re-ignites spontaneously; the next group over is trying just that, covering a jet up, then oohing when the gas gives a little pop and bursts into flame once more. I wish they’d keep the noise down. It seems disrespectful of such a unique place. In ancient times, I know, this whole area was sacred to the god of fire. I dip my fingertips in my wine and flick droplets into the flames. An apology of sorts. An offering.

Maybe it’s a mistake. This is an Islamic country, and fire worship has traditionally been regarded as the epitome of forbidden heathenism. Because it’s then that I see him, standing a little way off, staring at me. He’s a tall, dark-haired man, and certainly looks Turkish. His black brows are knitted over a hawkish nose. I feel suddenly embarrassed, as if I’ve been caught doing something wicked. I look away, pulling my face into a mask of indifference. Keith hasn’t noticed; he’s kicked off his sandals and is examining the sunburn pattern on his feet.

By the time I glance back, the man has disappeared into the darkness.

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