The Riptide
We made our way towards the cult compound at a pretty brisk pace, silently at first, then with some light chatter as Jason brightened up at the idea of showing me the place. His growing enthusiasm made me smile, the way he became more and more animated turning out to be somewhat contagious. Even the kids - the two out of the three that were conscious, at least - seemed to have caught interest, and I could see them turning their heads to peek around and try to see what Jason was talking about.
Of course, the crooked streets of the Far Ring being what they were, we did not see anything until we turned a corner to suddenly stumble onto a large street cobbled in white pebbles, and directly across it, one of the Broken Tide’s gates. I saw the kids’ eyes widen as they stared, and even I took a moment to appreciate the sight.
Two columns of pale marble rose from the ground, high and slender in their build, imposing and solemn despite the wear of ages on their venerable faces. Summits they may not have had, but that they still stood, even broken, against the ruin, made the very sky their crown. And all around, coating the stone like a gleaming film of oil on water, a shining orange-white sheen that mirrored the spirit as much as it did the light; and all across, wrapped tight on the pillars in a rush of aquamarine and cerulean blue, bands of waxed cloth embroidered in silver string with prayers, sayings and verses, a thousand sailors’ starlight memories to defy darkness and decay.
The gates themselves were a mosaic of driftwood and rusted-over iron, the pieces delicately and expertly arranged to make a grand display. On the left panel, wood and iron had been sanded to make the shape of ships and men, their armors graven and inlaid in brass, and their spears in polished iron. Each trireme’s hull bore six names in carvings, and only then did I notice each name was painted in the same tone each man’s hair was. I counted fifty ships crewed - three hundred names. Fifty more, those empty of men and names, lay in the lower half waiting for their sailors to come to them.
The right panel had holes ground into it, filled with gem-eyed painted figurines, all reaching out with their hands towards the ships. Then I saw-
“I’m there”, Jason said with a smile, pointing at one of the statuettes, sapphire-eyed and striated in black and cyan, standing on a dark cloud and looking upwards.
After a few moments of silence, I said all I could think of. “It doesn’t look like you.”
He laughed. “Of course it doesn’t look like me ! It looks like my spirit. Or at least, how best I could mould the shape of my spirit with clay. None of them look any good, let’s be honest. If you don’t know, you’d think they were made by fumbling children. Which is true, in a sense. We mortal men are never but children in the face of the powers that made the world.”
“So what’s the figurine for ?” I asked him with a nod, while eyeing the children, who seemed absolutely enraptured by Jason lecturing.
For a moment I thought he didn’t hear me, his gaze gone far away as he ran his fingers on the clay. I saw him shiver when his fingertips traced the statue’s spine, and his hair sway when he brushed against the clay figure’s own. Even his eyes, shining as they were, were reflected with the perfect same hue in the sapphire. Finally he replied, his presence distant and his voice diaphanous.
“Each statue was made by the hands of a Broken Tide elder, as part of their elevation. It is the final step of the Trial of the Trident. Should one pass the first two steps, they must go to the Gallery of Heroes and seclude themselves within. One of the rooms houses a treasure from the last age, brought back by a Hero with no name. It is a fount, a shattered funeral urn of basalt and tin, flowing in a great stone cup that never spills. The water is that of the river Acheron, the current that guides the departed to the Underworld.”
Jason paused, and calm blanketed us, close and comforting, underlined by the creaking of an oaken oar and the clicking of coins.
“To pass the trial, one who aspires to the title of elder must mix salt, clay and the fount’s water to give form to what they expect, hope, think, their spirit to be in shape. In the room, there is no light and no sound save for the glow and gurgling of the sacred water. When you sit to shape the clay, you find yourself with nothing to look at but the flow. It is an indescribable trance, to feel your spirit beckoned out of your body by the waters of Acheron. You can do nothing but work, quite literally pouring your soul into your creation, until you are done, or you are found lacking.”
“If the river’s spirit finds you wanting, you will never leave the room, and the aspirant after you will find it open and empty, awaiting. If you make it through, however, Acheron will take a tear from your eye and make it into gems, and a drop of blood from your hands’ veins to paint the clay in the colour of your soul. Then and only then will you be able to see through the room’s darkness and face the visage of your soul.”
A smile crept on Jason’s face, half-sad and half-amused.
“No one is ever as beautiful or as perfect as they hope to be. Not even the best and greatest, and not certainly me. But of all those whose face and name has been on the Elders’ Gate, none were afraid of death, or of themselves. The former would simply… go down the river; the latter’s sculpture would drain them all, leaving them mortal and maddened by the apocalypse of facing the sight of their souls. And so, all Elders of the cult share one principle.”
“[Dread not the darkness.]”
The philosopher - the elder - Jason - spoke with a quiet and heavy voice; I saw, I felt, rising from him, power in the shape of meaning, wrapping him in the aspect of-
-a traveller, treading endless paths towards nowhere. What was there to fear ? Every step lead forward. The destination mattered little. The journey was the truth.
-a sailor on their ship, eyes on the ever-changing horizon. The moody and fickle sea cared not about the lives of mariners, so why not smile at the storm instead ?
-a dead man paying the ferry, gaunt of skin and hollow-eyed, the only shine the given obol. But the ferryman said to keep the coin, for passage was paid already.
-Someone who would go as far as he could, struggle against the fading of his flame till claimed by the dark, and accept he could go no further.
-Resolve; a virtue equal to any other in the brightness of its blaze, defiance and acceptance impossibly forged together in an unshakeable axiom.
I breathed out, so caught in watching I was that I did not notice I was holding myself. It had been but a flash, and yet it lingered in my eyes, the sight and sound of this truth. And so, I cast another - newer - gaze onto the Broken Tide’s gates. There was, within the saltwater-worn wood and the rusted iron, a weight, a burden forged in memories that would make the great gates heavy as mountains for those whom an elder denied entry.
“What happens if you die ?”
Honestly I had forgotten the kids were there with us, and I started in surprise when Lykos spoke up. Jason didn’t seem surprised by the question, though.
“Clay will crumble to dust, whatever of my soul was inside will go into the other panel, and one of the ships will gain a new crewmate. I will pass away, but a little part of me will remain within the driftwood. Some knowledge, some power, some awareness; and when a mystikos of the Broken Tide dies, there will be a ghost of me on the shores of Acheron, so that they may not be alone to sail to the banks of Styx. Another will be chosen as Elder, they will make their own figurine and place it where mine stood before, and the cycle will continue.”
I helped Lykos down from my shoulders, and I saw him frown. “That sounds bad for you, though. Why would anyone want to be an Elder then ? You make it sound like it takes from you and gives nothing.”
Jason nodded. “Correct. Being an Elder is not a privilege. It is a responsibility towards one’s students and subordinates. To put it another way… If you were on a ship, you’d expect the crew to obey the captain, right ? But on the other hand, the captain has the duty to command the sailors well, to be the first to protect the ship and the last to leave. The captain’s authority is a consequence of the captain’s duty.”
“I think I get it”, Lykos said pensively. “What you’re talking about… It’s called leadership by… example I think ? I’m not sure. I don’t have the word but I get the idea. You’re saying that if you get to be in charge, you have to be trusted by those under you. And they know they can trust you if they see you giving of yourself for them.”
The sound of slowly clapping hands descended from the parapet, making all of us raise our eyes. Up there was a man with a tired expression, even stifling a yawn as he met our gazes. Jason let out a long-suffering sigh.
“Great lesson there, Jason. Not sure if it was worth waking me up for, but what’s done is done. Hmm… Who do we have there ? You, of course… two Citizen girls, one mortal boy and… oh. Hmm. Hmm. Hmm. A Hero in colours not quite like any of the greater cults. Jason, please explain what’s going on. Even if they’re your guests, I can’t just let them in without knowing if they are safe.”
Jason shook his head.
“Good afternoon to you too, Irenio. To be perfectly exact, only Perseus here-”, he said while nodding towards me, “-was originally my guest, and we picked up the kids along the way when we passed by this lady here on my arm bullying young Lykos with her posse, to which Perseus, then myself took offence and gave them a lesson on morals.”
Irenio nodded, his thick curly beard waving along. “I hear you, but that doesn’t explain-”
“Let me finish, would you ?” Jason interrupted with what I heard as some mild exasperation. “So as I was saying, Perseus knocked out the Kriti twins, I exchanged some discourse with the young lady, we left the two bastards unconscious in the street and picked up the girl’s little sister, whom as I understood the situation was mostly following her elder sister. And the little ruffians’ victim, who is, as you saw, a mortal, because we did not feel comfortable leaving him to go home alone.”
“I hear you, brother. Though… You know those three are Aegis kids right ? How’re you gonna deal with that ?”
“A fair concern”, Jason nodded. “We’ll keep them for the night and send a messenger to the Aegis, and tomorrow morning I'll drop them at the Acropolis. If someone from up there comes to ask, I’ll see them personally.”
Irenio gave Jason a tired smile, crinkles appearing in the corners of his eyes. “Sounds good to me. Welcome home, brother. Stand back though, if you don’t want to get clapped by the gate.”
We all took a careful step back, and let the door spread open before us, beckoning into the seat of the Broken Tide.
--
The Skywatcher
It felt good to be home. Not that Jason had been gone for long, but some days felt like years. Despite the weariness he was feeling, Jason felt a light smile tug at his lips. All three currently awake members of his gaggle were radiating childlike wonder, taking in the sights of the Broken Tide’s complex. Lykos was eyeing the sparring areas, eagerness and envy clearly painted on his face, as well as a measure of regret - or longing.
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Jason noted that the child was trying to goad Perseus into sparring with him, a thought that had him troubled. the Hero would be the kind of person to indulge Lykos’ wants in that regard, but even considering that he’d managed to admirably restrain himself against Citizens, an actually unawakened mortal might simply not be able to withstand Perseus at his weakest. Jason worried that he’d have to dissuade Lykos from this foolishness, if it ever came to pass.
Amusingly enough, Perseus himself didn’t seem to have noticed there were sparring areas, and instead had turned his eyes towards the lines of rope that hung above the courtyard, stretching from wall to wall and bearing a variety of windchimes, made from shells and pearls, iron and wood, and some even from bone and crystal. They constantly swayed within the breath of the wind, whistling a thousand tenuous notes, or tinkling against one another in ringing peals not unlike the cries of seabirds. Perseus’ eyes were dashing from side to side as the group moved, seemingly tracking each little hanging talisman to find out which made which note, whistling along as he went.
There was, Jason thought, a soothing undercurrent to the rhythmic chaos of the cult’s din; the grunts of pankrators, the voices of arguing sophists, howling wind and creaking wood, hundreds of feet trailing through sand and stepping on cobblestones. For one who found such things familiar, the noises’ absence was acutely felt.
It really did feel good to be home.
Still, Jason had things to take care of before he could rest. The Broken Tide’s compound was vast, enough to be a city within and between the twins of the Coast and the Piraeus, and so it always took some time to reach any specific building if one only walked there. On the other hand, Drako had been an efficient planner, and so it was rather difficult to actually get lost once within the walls, unless one was so obstreperously stubborn as to refuse to walk in straight lines and read indicator plates.
Thus, after less than three minutes of ambling along the wide paved alleys, they had reached and entered the cult’s medical pavilion. Near-instantly, a short, elderly and unruly-haired woman had appeared seemingly out of nowhere, and took Jason to task.
“Jason !” she cried out with reprimand in her voice, “just what in the blazes have you done this time ? Do you not get enough of needing lightning burns treatment every other day ? And what have I told you about crowding my entrance ? Either get in or get out, but don’t dilly-dally in the way ! What if someone comes in needing urgent treatment and can’t get in ? Huh ?”
Jason stepped back, eyeing the angry wavings of the wooden cane she was holding, and raised a hand to placate her.
“Peace, Teacher. I have a patient in need of your care.”
That brought her up short, and she eyed the group over more critically.
“Would that be this young miss you’re holding, by any chance ? I don’t see anyone else injured amongst the lot of you. Alright then, get inside and lay her on one of the recliners. I’ll see her shortly.”
Almost as abruptly as she had appeared, she turned on her heels and vanished into the pavilion’s depths. Jason sighed and shook his head, following suit - though also smiling faintly. His Teacher’s temperament was always the same, irascible and judgmental, but never would she turn away a patient.
“Who was that ? I got she was your teacher, but aside from that ?”
Jason half-turned his head towards Perseus. “I’ll make presentations once she’s gotten to auscultate Erae. But yes, she’s my teacher and someone I respect a lot.”
The Hero nodded, and they walked past the entrance hall into the pavilion itself, or at least its hospital room. Within, a few dozen white recliners sat, the majority of them thankfully empty. Healers came and went, distributing medicine and food to the few patients that lay on their beds and checking in on them. The room itself was rather nondescript, save for the lanterns that hung from its ceiling - head-sized orbs of glass with a diamond heart no larger than a thumbnail, within which a spirit light was sealed, giving off a radiance akin to natural sunlight. Helped by the sandstone white of the walls, the light reflected throughout the room, filling it with warmth and clarity.
Carefully, Jason laid Erae down on a nearby recliner, wincing at the pained expression on her unconscious face. The girl’s little sister stepped aside to stand near her sister, wearing a worried frown. The healer returned moments later, sitting on a small stool near the bed and looking up and down the group with a gimlet stare.
“So ?” she asked imperiously, looking crabby as always.
“Right.” Jason nodded. “Perseus, meet Elder Hydarê, the chief healer of the Broken Tide, and my teacher for many years. Teacher, this is Perseus, a Hero I met at sea earlier today and who helped me. The boy’s Lykos, the brother of the Red Shroud Heroine. Patient herself is Erae, Melissa Moonspear’s eldest. The other kid is her younger sister.”
Hydarê grunted noncommittally. “What’s her condition ?”
“Broken hip, shock, possibly other ailments I’m unaware of”, Jason grimaced. Well, it was the truth, but as things were right now it looked as though he’d been picking on children; he knew his teacher would understand there were special circumstances, but he was loath to give her a chance to find more fault with him than she usually did.
“I see, I see. Well, this is going to be rather easy, I reckon, seeing as I sense your pneuma in the injury, and you wouldn’t be one to hurt a child if you can avoid it. I surmise you found her doing something you found objectionable ?”
“Bullied Lykos. I don’t like bullies”, Perseus piped up, and Jason sent him a thousand grateful thanks.
“And so justice was left to the philosopher, and not the one who’d risk to kill her by accident. The hip though…” Hydarê’s voice trailed off as she glanced at the group, releasing a pulse of astringent pneuma that had Jason’s nose prickling painfully. It was Lykos that had the worst of it, though. He wriggled uncomfortably against the wall he was leaning on, and haphazardly wiping sweat off his brow once the healer’s pneuma vanished. Hydarê nodded in understanding, and turned her eyes back to Erae.
“I see the framework of your curse, Jason. Good work, disciple. I’ll check her for splinters, don’t want to leave bone shards somewhere they could cut a vein, but aside from that… She certainly appears healthy, but I’ll do the same as I do with any other patient, full check. I can sense the trouble in her spirit, and a deviation while I work would be disastrous for her.”
“Anything I can do to help, Teacher ?” Jason asked, and received a few prodding hits of Hydarê’s cane in the legs in response.
“Yes ! Get out of my hospital and let me work in peace. Useless disciple…”
Jason sighed. “Alright, alright… Please keep me informed, Teacher.”
She went on grumbling unintelligibly, already starting to auscultate Erae. Jason urged his companions towards the exit, and made it as though he hadn’t noticed the girl’s sister staying with her.
There’s fewer places in the cult safer than Teacher’s hospital, and I certainly can’t begrudge her wanting to stay together with her sister. Doesn’t seem like the type to bother Elder Hydarê while she works, either, so it should be fine.
“One important thing done, at least…”, he breathed out as they left the medical pavilion. “Where to now…”
His train of thought was interrupted by Lykos’ voice; the boy was looking at both him and Perseus with a trying look. “Hungry.”
Instants later, Perseus’ stomach audibly rumbled, and he nodded at Lykos in agreement. “Hungry.”
Both of them then looked at Jason with faces that said “Where’s the food, Jason ?” and the philosopher couldn’t help but burst out laughing. “Children you are… Alright, time for a meal.”
Perseus looked at him, smiling and chuckling, and clapped him on the shoulder. “Just because I have to grow old doesn’t mean I’ll let myself grow up. Food’s well worth being childish over.”
“He speaks truth”, Lykos interjected with an expression of utmost seriousness on his face. Jason threw his arms up, still laughing, and started walking towards the dining hall. He did not even need to look to find where to go - the music that was coming out of the building was enough for him to find his way there.
As they came closer, he could even make out the lyrics of the song. Almost reflexively, he started humming along, followed by the two others soon after. The clamour of the assembled people inside became audible when they turned a corner and the dining hall entered their sights. Jason’s stride lengthened, and his voice joined the chorus as he stepped into the hall, ringing out along the vibrations of the drums and the whistling of the flutes.
“Deathless is the Hydra’s crew
Deathless is the Hydra’s crew
Deathless is the Hydra’s crew
When comes the radiant dawn !
Our tattered sails catch the bright solar winds
Our tattered sails catch the bright solar winds
Our tattered sails catch the bright solar winds
When comes the radiant dawn !”
A great bellow and a tide of applause erupted from the gathered mystikoi at the end of the song, followed by cheers and the sound of clinking cups. From the musician’s corner, the lyrist rose and walked up to Jason, putting warmth in the philosopher’s heart as they greeted each other.
“Cousin ! Good evening to you, and to your guests ! It’s nice to see you for dinner. I just finished my performance and I was going to grab a bite. You’ve got perfect timing there, Jason; I saw you arrive and I heard you sing at the end. But why don’t you introduce me, and then we can all go eat together ?”
Jason smiled. “Of course. Perseus, Lykos, meet my cousin Herus, a great cultivator and a wonderful musician.”
“And don’t forget ! Writer of a thousand songs ! And singer of a thousand tales ! There shall come a day where all of Greece speaks my name as they do Homer’s !”
Though he wore an expression of mock outrage, Jason knew Herus was having fun, seeing as how he could barely keep his smile away from his face. A moment later, Herus led them away from the entrance and towards the table, talking and gesturing with great animation.
“Katrina’s up after me, she said she’s got some brand new songs to sing tonight, I can’t wait ! But anyways, Jason, what’ve you been doing today ? All good with the weather team ?”
Jason grabbed a plate of grilled fish - big enough for eight people, nevermind four - and started giving food to everyone.
“It’s been an interesting day, yes… Let’s get to eating, we’ll probably be done before I finish telling you about it.”