The Riptide
We were standing on the water, with no land in sight. Blue lay under us, nigh transparent near the surface and almost black in the deeps; blue lay above us, fading into a toneless blazing corona around the sun’s glare and deepening on the edges of the horizon into a shade of ultramarine that was to empty skies what anthracite grey was to mountain stone. Ocean winds came and went, wrapping us in cocoons of seaspray and unfurling the waves like giant unseen sails on absent ships.
Warm sunlight suffused us, casting a welcome heat amidst the chill of the sea. Contentment filled me, roused by the simple feeling of being lost in this oceanic nowhere. I spread my arms in embrace of the infinity above and around, letting my gaze lose itself in the blue, and I took in a breath.
It was as though I was born again. All my senses exploded in sensation, and in my overwhelmed mind sensation turned to emotion. Rippling waves of intense prickling coursed through and across my body, leaving in their wake perceptions that were as much formless emotion as they were meaning.
My sight sharpened; on uncountable distances I could see and count each ephemeral bubble of seafoam, every transient crest on the swell; even as my eyes were cast farther, my understanding of what they told me deepened. Nothing was really “blue”, or rather “blue” was too vague a thing to fit what I saw. There were a thousand hues, ten thousand shades, a hundred thousand tones, a million different blues cast across the boundless sky and sea in unfathomable wonder, and I was witness to it all.
My hearing honed itself to catch even the slightest whisper dancing on the waves. I could hear on the currents the thread-thin and edge-sharp songs of the winds, I could tell by ear alone each individual rising and dying wave from the countless multitude and the way the ocean gale howled melodies on the dancing crests. All sounds I separate from the whole and take apart into fractions of meaning; the swooping brush of swaying tides, the un-sound of rupturing bubbles and the faintest flickering tremor of air flowing in the void, that I knew my mind parsed as clean popping. Even the din from my body was not hidden anymore. My heartbeat, steady and strong, along with the roaring of blood in my vessels; my breath, heaving and enduring even burdened by my flesh as it was; the soft brushing rasp of my skin whenever my fingers skimmed each other, I could discern it all.
Scent and taste were as one, completely taken by the overwhelming suffusion of salt. On my lips and my tongue both flowed the freshness of water, along with the acute limning of brine. So long as I would stand there amidst the blue immensity, it would remain unescapable. I would not mind staying here forever. The sea felt like home to me, everywhere an abode and nowhere a hearth. The smell of seawater sank within me, bringing with it a sense of belonging and serenity.
I felt refreshed, renewed.
I breathed out, releasing a tension in my solar plexus I had not noticed was there, and along with the air I expelled my senses shrank down to an equilibrium that wouldn’t overwhelm me. Still, the possibility remained there, I knew. Curled up behind my sternum, ready to blossom and let me take in everything the world had to show; just a breath away.
The next thing I noticed was that I was incredibly thirsty. I knelt on the frothy wave and cupped a handful of seawater, bringing it to my lips. The sensation of it going down my throat was cool and sharp, and it was an incredibly invigorating sensation to no longer feel parched. Still, it was only a temporary backstop, and solely because I appeared to have - rather obviously - a connection with the sea. I was definitely going to need an actual drink whenever I’d be ashore.
“Are you sure you should be drinking seawater ?”
Ah, whoops. In the moment I had forgotten I wasn’t alone here.
The other guy - Jason - was eyeing me up with both eyebrows raised and a dubitative expression. Strangely enough, even just that question felt like a polite reprimand, which in all honesty was fair of him. It would normally be a rather stupid thing to do; perhaps that was why I had felt like doing it in the first place. Somehow it seemed to be in character for me, despite the silent void where I should’ve had memories.
“You probably shouldn’t do it, no”, I said with a smile. “I really did need that little pick-me-up though.”
“On the point”, he asked, “wouldn’t you have something for me ? Because I know I can’t simply drink saltwater for stamina, and I am getting rather tired after today.”
“I reckon being turned into a shark and then getting caught in a massive beast fight would do that to a man”, I said. “Hang on, let me see if I’ve got something.”
I put a hand in the folds of my tunic - which was dyed a warm sunset orange that I liked - letting my fingers roam for anything that would seem to be medicine. Maybe a minute passed while I rummaged in there, grumbling a little, until I finally found something that seemed good. It felt rather like honey or wax under the touch, thick, compact and mildly sticky, and it smelled like good health when I brought it out.
Even with my hand closed around it, I knew it was glowing somehow. It was a small, thumbnail-sized cube of some orange gel that glistened in sunlight, and had a deeper glow within, though that one instantly began fading when I opened my palm. Afterwards, the cube looked like a perfectly mundane portion of thick rich honey.
“I have this”, I said while giving it to Jason. “I don’t know what it actually is, but I’m fairly sure it is medicine.”
He side-eyed me as he took it from my hand. “Are you sure it’s not too strong for me ? I don’t want to explode because you fed me something meant for someone ten times stronger than me.”
“I mean, there’s no way to know, but it seemed to not agree with being outside my pockets, and I think it’s been weakened some, so it should be fine anyway”, I shrugged.
“That’s fair.” He nodded at me and bit down on the cube. “Here goes nothing, hopefully.”
Then he caught on fire.
--
The Skywatcher
Warmth consumed Jason, gentle and relentless. The amber honey blazed through his flesh, nurturing the healthy and eroding the corrupt. There was power in the substance, power that was beyond Jason’s ability to grasp and guide; all he could do was let it run its course and hope it would not break him. Such was the sheer onslaught of energy flowing through him that he was as nailed in place, held by the kind but unwavering grip of the amber honey.
Somewhere in Jason’s mind, logic stirred and cogs spun into a flash of comprehension.
It’s ambrosia !
The food of gods is not for mortals, but Heroes carry some degree of divinity, and only they can challenge Olympus in such a way. It would take a Hero to carry ambrosia among mortals, and it would instantly decay once it left the Hero’s possession. It all fits together. This man is a Hero who managed to earn some ambrosia somehow.
Likely it was given to him by the nereid - Arethusa. He certainly seemed to have her favour, the ambrosia might’ve been a gift from her. And he wasted it on me. I am indubitably thankful for it, but it nonetheless seems incredibly wasteful. He could have used it to save himself from a lethal wound, and he fed it to me instead.
With that in mind, it seems pointless to question his motives right now. He went to the trouble of saving me in the Sea of Monsters, so maybe he thought healing me was the logical continuation ? Praise a Hero’s passion, for once.
I do owe him for it, though. At least I ought to show thanks for the ambrosia.
Indeed, there came a feeling of rightness from his body as Jason’s mind formed up the word, and the fiery rejuvenating food redoubled in its endeavour to restore him. Inch by inch, his body was scoured of its little pains and its deeper ailments, and with every ripple of the ambrosia his stamina rose up. When the fire-gold essence finally faded, Jason felt as fresh as he had been in the morning after breakfast.
Only then did he notice a shroud of orange-glowing pneuma dissipating around him, and saw the other cultivator looking at him with an half-interested half-alarmed look. The man let out a sigh of relief when the light disappeared.
“Oh good. You’re fine. I was worried when you seemed to have caught on fire, but it didn’t look harmful so I let it run its course. Glad to see you in better shape, though. You were looking a bit like a dead fish when we got to the surface.”
Jason bowed from the waist, speaking in a solemn tone. “I am immensely grateful to you for feeding me your ambrosia, Hero. For the succour you gave me in the depths, and this gift now on the surface, I would consider myself in your debt, if that pleases you.”
“Eh, I don’t often bother with formalities”, the Hero replied. Jason, still bowing, saw him shrug from the corner of his eyes. “If you really want to pay me back for that, help me find a place to sleep, eat and drink for tonight, and I’ll consider us even. Also please don’t bow, it makes me uncomfortable.”
The casual waiving of what was owed - not technically waiving, but for what the Hero asked, it might as well have been for free - shocked Jason, and he caught in the middle of straightening himself up, and he stumbled to the ground - ground ? Sea ? Floor ?
It’s solid and not man-made so it’s ground.
His logos was still too exhausted from the day’s ordeals to protest, but Jason nonetheless felt a weary growl of defeat in his soul. Well. The logic had been flimsy, but until he was home, Jason would take whatever made him not have to swim his way back to the Coast.
“Alright, well, that’s fairly easy. I live in a city and I’m part of a major cult, so there should be ample space and meals in the compound. All we have to do is find a way back there. I was thrown gods know how far into the Mediterranean this morning, and entering or leaving the Sea of Monsters is very disorienting spatially, so I have absolutely no idea of where exactly we are right now.”
Jason looked around, seeing nothing but sea and sky from horizon to horizon.
“You and I probably can cover a lot of distance quickly, but we need to make sure to go in the right direction. I’d rather not end up in Samaria or in Libya. Coming back home from there would be incredibly tiresome.”
Better Samaria than Alikos, though… But better Alikos than the western barbarian lands.
The Hero perked up. “We’re in the Mediterranean ? Great ! Honestly I was worried about being lost somewhere in the Red Sea or in the ocean. I mean, it’s still a lot of surface, but at least I have a rough idea of the place.”
Jason shook his head. “Greek territory is still vast. Even if we’re near Attica, there’s no telling how close to the city we are.”
“I think I can find it.” The Hero seemed to be murmuring to himself, stroking his chin while deep in thought. “Does the city you mean have a harbour ?”
“The largest in Greece”, Jason nodded. “Called the Piraeus.”
A frown descended on the other man’s brow. “I know that I know that name, but I cannot remember the source… Something about horses, olive trees and a fountain ?” His face suddenly brightened. “Well ! I think I ought to at least go there once, if only to see if it has any clues for me. Let’s make our way, shall we ?”
Jason looked around them again, half-hoping to see a ship appear or something.
There was, obviously, nothing.
“How ?”, he asked.
The Hero knelt on the sea’s surface, arms spread open with his hands dipped into the water. Intent - Intent ! - so strong it sent ripples across at least thirty stades, as far as Jason could tell - poured out of him, spreading under the surface like a second skin, twitching and unfolding into a thousand feelers, grasping at currents that weren’t seawater, but other things Jason couldn’t comprehend - he saw words, he heard voices from nowhere, running underwater like lost wicker strands.
A soft turquoise glow of pneuma surrounded the man, weaving into the waters and following his Intent. From the way only some of the feelers glowed, Jason understood he was finding out a path by eliminating those that ended nowhere. Watching it from above, he thought it looked rather like a gardener trimming a tree’s branches, if the tree was a translucent algae bush. Even with the sluggishness of the currents, there was a certain ponderous grace to the pneumatic strand’s motion. It drew the eye, guided the gaze along unto the point it vanished, swaying slowly around the tide’s currents.
He’s making a beacon, I think. Shapeless Intent to reach out to the destination, and then a pneuma-wrought guide to make sure we don’t lose our way. Interesting.
“Alright, done ! We are pretty far from our destination, but if we walk straight, we’ll be there pretty quickly.”
Jason looked at him questioningly, and blinked when he answered almost immediately. “How far, out of curiosity ?”
“Short of a thousand stades. Very short, I’d say; Probably less than five under. Got to go at a pretty brisk pace if we want to get there before sunset.”
“I am very curious as to how you know that, but as much as I want to ask you questions, I reckon you’d rather wait till we’re around a warm meal”, Jason said evenly. At this point, it seemed to be best to roll along with it, and not be too surprised when the Hero did something absurd.
He laughed. “Sounds like a plan. Let’s get walking, then. I think you probably guessed, but follow the bright blue line. …And try not to get too far from me or you’ll fall into the water. I’m not sure how much range I have with that.”
Jason nodded, and he followed as the Hero set out to tread across the wine-dark sea.
--
The Riptide
We made surprisingly good time, and arrived at the city barely past the middle of the afternoon. We’d exchanged some chit-chat along the way - I’d told him my name and that I was amnesiac, he told me he was an enthusiastic meteorologist, and we somehow ended up talking about food.
“No, listen- cheese doesn’t necessarily get any better because you put blueberries in it ! I mean, sure it’s good, but there’s other good cheeses.”
More exactly, I was listening to his heresy about blue food, and I had to defend my honour. “It’s because blueberries are blue”, I said firmly with the conviction of someone who knew they were right. “Because blueberries are blue, they make cheese better by adding blue. It’s simply the way of the world.”
I punctuated my sentence with a nod, and Jason groaned besides me. “You’re a thrice-damned blue-natic. Were you initiated in the Mystery of Blue Food or somesuch ?”
I smiled and shrugged, and clapped him on the shoulder. “Okay that was a good one, and to answer your question, I don’t know. Maybe. Probably. Almost certainly, I think. I mean, I have no way to be absolutely sure but I would bet on it. Blue Food is a great foundation for a healthy life.”
He rolled his eyes and we kept going, while bickering amiably.
A handful of strides later, we’d gone past Piraeus’ harbour city and come in sight of the Coast itself, and I was struck speechless.
Far from the shore, up high on the tallest hill, was a massive temple. Even from here, I could see its sides lined with sculpted columns, its gates of shining polished brass, and the grand diorama carved into the frontispiece. There was an impression of deep-seated authority coming from the temple, like it was a palace overseeing a kingdom, instead of being a place of worship. It was far from the only impressive thing in the city, though.
The Coast had four rings, arranged concentrically beneath the temple and the acropolis, each overhanging the next and limned by tall white walls of stone.
In the first, closest to the holy site, were actual palaces - not many, I counted less than ten - and lesser temples, seemingly all built of the same shining white stone. From what Jason had told me, I recognized the two domed palaces as the assembly and tribunal’s seats, though the debates themselves took place in the agora below. The palaces were little more than glorified libraries holding session transcripts and judicial records. Between the two, the fortified building was the Archon’s residence. Allegedly, the Strategos also had a palace in the ring, but he preferred to live near the harbour, with being a sailor and all.
Lower, with its wall covered in creeping lilacs, moss and other sprawling plants, was the ring inhabited by elders, nobles and a smattering of rich or important craftsmen and tradespeople. I heard Jason tell me the greenery was due to herbalists and alchemists not properly disposing of materials, and causing the explosive growth of the local flora by accidentally feeding them potent fertiliser. The Archon originally wanted to have it removed, but the added green had found a lot of popular support in embellishing the city, and so it stayed.
Honestly I rather liked it. The foliage descending from the top of the wall made for a pretty picture, putting a touch of nature and rurality on the otherwise very urban cityscape. Which, obviously, it was normal that the city looked like a city, but aesthetically it looked more pleasing with a little wild element.
Also there were olive trees. Everywhere in the city, olive trees. Those people were olive maniacs. Wide olive trees to provide shade in the bustling streets, small potted olive trees to decorate the roofs of houses, and olive tree wood carvings to adorn the walls. Everywhere, absolutely everywhere. I was losing my mind over it. Not that I minded the trees themselves, poor guys did nothing wrong, but I was seriously questioning the common sense of the inhabitants. Couldn’t they have found some other trees to mix in ? Or maybe olive trees were the only thing that could grow there, in which case, fair.
Nonetheless, there were far too many olive trees. I could smell the olives from the dockside. At least there weren’t any of the blasted things where Jason was leading me.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
“The Brazen Aegis’ compound is in the High Ring, it’s the one that’s entirely a dome, no square beneath. As I’m told, their mystery is in the Parthenon itself, so it makes sense they wanted to stay close. Ours - uh I mean, my cult’s - is in the Far Ring, adjoining both Piraeus and the outer district. The Broken Tide is almost exclusively sea-centric, so again, it makes sense we’d be close to the harbour. Not that we were necessarily close to the people. Old Drako was an asshole of the highest degree, and I cannot tell you how relieved I am that he left for Olympia. The man was oppressive like you wouldn’t believe. Thank all the lost gods for Solon and the Brazen Aegis for reining him in.”
Jason shook his head ruefully. “At least our new kyrios is better, and we’re regaining some reputation with the citizens. Themistocles is very popular with the sailors and the fishermen, and given he’s a good Strategos, even the Brazen Aegis’ soldiers like him. All in all the city has been getting better and more lively in the last century, especially since Pericles was elected Archon. I’d not go as far as to say he’s a good man, a Tyrant’s a Tyrant after all, but at least he’s a fair ruler.”
We kept chatting as we walked, Jason showing me what he called “points of cultural interests” in the Far Ring - actually the best and cheapest taverns and restaurants - and me taking in the sights. I rather liked it here, and with the dozens of different foods being cooked all around, I didn’t even smell any olives. This was true bliss. For a time, at least.
The Coast being what it was, the High Ring and the Middle Ring were fairly well-organised, with simple street layouts, while the Low Ring and the Far Ring were absolute nightmares to navigate if you didn’t know the place. There were countless hidden alleys and dead ends, about as many twisty streets and purposefully obtuse archways and corridors.
It was in one such crooked detour that we stumbled upon a group of mystikoi in yellow-and-gray robes beating on someone curled up on the ground. My fists tightened. I locked onto the scene, seeing from the corner of my eyes Jason cast me a warning glance. “Perseus, no. We can’t cause a scene.”
I shook my head at him. “We have to stop them”, I murmured. He sighed and rolled his eyes, but nodded in response, and I saw him move to cover my back.
I stepped forward, my right hand beckoning for something that wasn’t there, and my fingers closed on a hilt.
--
The Skywatcher
A long stylus appeared in Perseus’ hand, as if it had always been there. It seemed to be made of bronze, and either glass or obsidian. The beatdown was not far, maybe twenty paces, and Jason was only a couple feet behind Perseus. This close, he could feel the seething intent and the promise of sharpened violence contained in the stylus. He clenched his jaw, hoping fruitlessly that the Hero would give up on it and step away - curse a Hero’s passion.
None of the four perpetrators were Sophists; the strongest of them felt as one who’d just crossed to the seventh step of the Civic realm. It wouldn’t even be a fight, or a bloodbath. Jason just hoped Perseus would make the slaughter quick.
“Just what do you think you’re doing ?”
Maybe it wouldn’t be a slaughter at all. Maybe he only wants to tell them off.
The beatdown halted, the four ruffians turning to face Perseus. “Who the fuck you are now ?” The one who spoke was the seventh rank Citizen, a young woman with short dark hair. She could barely be over twenty-five, Jason thought.
“Some guy, in… crows, what’s that outfit ? Burning Dusk ? You’re a bit far from home, asshole ! Get lost before I punch you.”
Nope, they’re dead.
Perseus did not move. He merely stared at her, his face closed and dispassionate, his stance neutral. For now. The Hero did not even blink as he replied.
“I asked first. If you want the right to ask questions, answer those you’re asked.”
She spat on the ground. “The fuck I will ! You come into my city, you walk into my business, and you have the balls to ask questions ? I’m going to tear off your balls, stranger ! GUYS ! Come get a piece of this motherfucker !”
The other three, who’d been until now watching from the sidelines, fanned out around Perseus with an assorted set of sneers and leers. The youngest of them was a girl who looked like she could scarcely have even begun puberty. The other two were boys that Jason knew, by reputation if not by name; they had been second-rank Philosophers some years ago, until they caused the death of another Brazen Aegis initiate through some particularly brutal hazing. Pericles had rendered justice by shattering their cultivation and forcing them to start over. Not that they seemed to have learned.
“So”, their leader bit out, “I’ll say it clearly since you’re a bit stupid, you tell me who you are and you give me all that’s in your tunic, and maybe you’ll leave this alley with all your pretty teeth intact.”
She paused. “Almost all your teeth intact. I gotta make a point of not fucking with me.”
Perseus breathed out.
“I am someone who does not like bullies.”
Gracefully, elegantly, the pneuma of a Hero blossomed in the alley, unfurling from the depths of Perseus’ soul in shapes that Jason thought looked like fluttering jellyfish and grasping squid. A faint turquoise glow permeated the scene, along with the pungent smell of salt and algae. The Hero’s eyes shone dimly, and the cast of his face was stone.
Past the second of terror, four fools rushed at a hero, and Jason braced for the flying limbs. Instead, Perseus merely took three steps forward, weaving through the ruffians and dodging their hits as though he’d be sidestepping an annoying seagull. Jason noticed he’d moved to put himself between the four Citizens and their earlier quarry, who was now wheezing pitifully on the ground. Jason lightly stepped up on the nearby house’s roof and down behind Perseus, and knelt beside the pain-wracked boy.
He didn’t really have any medicinal techniques or knowledge, but he knew how to apply pneuma to soothe pain. Even if he couldn’t heal him, he could at least relieve him a little.
In front of him, the two recidivists lunged at Perseus wild-eyed, pulling daggers - bloodied, recently - from their robes, hacking haphazardly at the Hero. Both were disarmed with a single flick of the stylus, then sent skidding and reeling backwards with a backhand to the chest. Perseus took a step forward, launching his free hand upwards in a thrusting motion. Out of nowhere, ropes of seawater sprang up to restrain the youngest girl, who had been cowering behind a crate of amphorae. The tendrils of water hoisted her up, leaving her sitting bound on a nearby roof - secure and effectively out of the fight.
Then the Hero moved. The three ruffians had used one of the Brazen Aegis’ most basic techniques, a coat of pneuma that reinforced the user’s defences and gave them the appearance of being made of brass. Perseus swung his stylus at one of the two murderers - he went crashing through the amphorae, cut across the chest by a long but only skin-deep slash. The stylus’ backswing struck the other of the two, who brutally careened back first into a wall - Jason winced as he heard the crack of bone.
Only the eldest girl remained, running towards Perseus with wide screaming eyes and no real strategy. Jason saw a terrible current of pneuma gather in the Hero’s left hand, along with roaring Intent in the shape of a trident, and he thrust down.
A pulse of brine-smelling pneuma washed over the alley in a chilly wave, a noise like a crashing waterfall rang out and shook both ground and air; the trident slammed into the ground, catching the girl’s neck between the left and center points. She dared not move even a finger - she could yet breathe, and she was shaking in unconcealed terror.
“So”, Perseus asked in a deceptively calm tone, “I ask again, just what do you think you’re doing ?”
“We’re ridding the city of trash !”, she quavered out. “He and his sister, they don’t belong in the Coast ! They’re spartan trash !”
The Hero grunted noncommittally. “Mmm. I think people who call others trash often are close to being trash themselves. Not a good point for you, young lady.”
He shook the trident slightly, and she whimpered piteously. “Please don’t kill me…”
“That depends on what you have to say for yourself. If I’m satisfied with your explanations, I’ll give you appropriate punishment and then toss you out of this street on your asses. If I am not…”
He let the sentence hang, his stare hard and cold, fixated on the girl’s begging own. The temperature in the alley fell sharply, and a faint pressure manifested, rendering the air viscous and sluggish. When Perseus spoke again, it was with a voice like the dark abyss. Cold, heavy, quiet.
“It is sad, but young fools often disappear at sea. Your parents will mourn you, but what can one do against the ocean’s whim ?”
“We don’t have parents !”, the girl croaked out in panic. “Me and my little sister, we’re orphans, we were taken in by the cult after the war ! Please, she’s got only me to take care of her !”
Perseus’ eyes softened a little. To a Philosopher’s senses, at least. Jason doubted any of the four unfortunate fools could see it.
“And him ?”, Perseus asked, nodding towards the boy Jason was treating. “Why’d you pick on him ? He looks like he’s the same age as your sister - if that’s her I put on the roof. What’s he done to deserve getting beaten like that ?”
The girl gulped down, but there were traces of tremulous anger in her voice as she replied.
“He’s trash. He’s Spartan. He and his sisters, they’re from the Frenzies. They’re savages, they’re the ones who killed my parents ! And those two are the worst of the lot ! Not even the other Spartans wanted them, so now they’re here in the Coast, and they’re useless ! His sister is supposed to be a Heroine, but her foundation is completely incompatible with the Brazen Aegis teachings, so she’s dead weight. All she does is menial work, like a slave, but she gets paid for it !”
Perseus stared at her impassibly. “And how does that lead to you attempting to beat her little brother to death ?”
Her eyes were darting left and right, never meeting his. “I didn’t want to kill him ! Just wanted to rough him up enough that she’d take the hint and get out of our city !”
“I see.”
To his own surprise, it was Jason who had spoken up. There was a cold fury beating in his heart, and his logos thrummed with the tension of an argument that bid no reply. He could sympathise with an orphan’s grief, being one himself; he could understand the anger of one who suffered in the war, having lived through it himself. But he would never countenance this pointless brutality.
Jason stood up, coming to stand along Perseus. The Hero side-eyed him, but said nothing. The Philosopher cast his gaze down at the pinned Citizen, hard iron in his glare.
“I know of the woman you speak of. Lydia, from the Infernal Frenzies. Not an exile, but a fugitive. The Spartans do not exile people. All their fines are levied in blood; from a finger, to a heart. If she’d been guilty of anything that here in the Coast would have seen her exiled, back in Sparta they would have nailed her to a rack, cut her arms and legs lengthwise and left her to bleed out in the Tyrant’s kennel. It would not have been a quick death, mind you. Pleistarchus’ pack has no bitches, and yet there are new cubs every year.”
An air of sheer disgust and revulsion floated over the street as Jason spoke the last sentence. Still, he carried on.
“You see, in Sparta they suffer not the weak. If you are less than a Citizen, you are a slave. If your birth does not allow you to become a Citizen, you are tossed out. Quite literally, I mean. One of the sides of the city isn’t walled, because it opens on a cliff, with a chasm at the bottom. Where the ravine and the mountain meet, there is a sacrificial altar, where they leave the cripples and the malformed. They call it the Vultures’ Feast, because there is a nest of Virtuous Beasts nearby. Sparta’s guardian birds do not go hungry.”
He glared down at her with twelve winters worth of ice.
“I also know of you, Erae, daughter of Melissa. Your mother was a proud elder of the Brazen Aegis, and she died as she had lived, protecting the people of the Coast. It was her who carried me to safety when the Spartans torched my village and my parents stayed behind to fight. But what could two Philosophers do against such reckless hate ? My father was eaten by their dogs of molten stone, and my mother burned herself from the inside out rather than be taken prisoner.”
“I know your pain”, Jason hissed, with his teeth bared. Erae flinched, but she couldn’t escape from Perseus’ trident.
“I do sympathise with you. I went through the same things as you did, after all. As for Lydia, you most likely didn’t know about her circumstances. She does love her brother just as much as you love your sister; why else would she risk rescuing a sacrifice, and possibly setting the Tyrant’s hounds on her heels ? But you did not know that. You did not care to learn, I think. You did not see her as a kindred victim of Spartan cruelty, as an unmoored orphan with a precious charge. All you could see of her were the colours of her robes, and that made your mind. You were to hate her to the marrow, to seek to purge the filth you thought she was by all means necessary. Up to and including nearly murdering her lame brother.”
“This, I cannot accept, abide, or sympathise with.”
Jason was an eighth-rank Philosopher. He was no stranger to orating or discourse. He was familiar with logos. He did not, however, know of the golden light that bloomed inside his soul as he spoke next. And yet. He did not deny it.
“Hear me well, Erae, daughter of Melissa. [Suffering and hatred absolve not blind cruelty].”
The weight of his pneuma descended upon her, unbidden. Her eyes were fixated on his. His gaze was calm, undisturbed. Hers was maddened, reeling, afraid beyond terror. Jason pressed on. He knew what to do. His foot struck surgically, breaking her left hip. Pneuma slithered into the wound, coiling around the fracture, weaving into the flesh. There had not been any more pain than necessary.
“[For your spiteful harassment, for the pointless violence you committed, you will suffer as he has suffered. No matter how high you climb, until you have made amends with Lydia and her brother, you will be crippled as he is. Your every step will lance you with the memory of your injustice. Your leg will falter whenever you need it most, every stumble a rejoinder that ignorance is not innocence.]”
The curse settled in Erae’s flesh and soul, and she screamed and flailed helplessly under the trident. Justice settled in Jason’s soul, and with it an urge. He put a hand on Perseus’ arm; the Hero nodded, and withdrew the weapon, letting it melt back into pneuma. Jason knelt beside Erae, and sent a gentle pulse of soothing pneuma through her.
“I give you one day of reprieve before the sentence begins. I advise you to make the best of it.”
Choking sobs came from her as she lay on the ground, curled up in foetal position, her entire body spasming with stress and tension. Jason let out an explosive sigh, his shoulders falling into a slump. That wasn’t the day he’d expected to have.
“So what do we do now ?”
Perseus looked tired as he asked Jason. He probably did not expect things to be as emotionally heavy as they were - deal with the bullies, rescue the kid, done. And it was probably - okay, very likely - Jason’s fault that things had gone sideways. Still, he did not regret doing it. Some things had to be said. Some wounds had to be lanced.
“Pick up the kids, go to the Broken Tide compound. If anyone in the Brazen Aegis comes asking, hand them over. With how shaken they are, I’m not comfortable leaving them to go alone through the city. They needed to get their ears boxed, but I’m not good with potentially getting them murdered.”
The Hero nodded. “Works for me. You take the girls, I take the boys ?”
“Boy, singular. The two assholes you smacked around can go die in a ditch for all I care. They’re known killers and they already got punished for it, but they visibly haven’t learned their lesson.”
“Fair enough.” Perseus turned to the boy who’d been attacked. “Hey kid, you okay with what he said ?”
The boy raised his face towards the Hero, almost defiantly. No almost to it, he’s trying to look tough, Jason thought with faint amusement.
“My name is Lykos. But yes, I would like that please. After… that, I want to feel safe. Also I’m never going out alone again.”
Perseus picked him up and let him sit on his shoulders, while Jason carefully lifted Erae’s trembling body from the ground. “Wise choice.”
“Ehm, Perseus ? Where’s the other girl ?”
“Ah right. I may have forgotten about her for a moment”, the Hero said ruefully. “Lemme get her down and we’re ready to go.”
With a wave of his hand and a surge of pneuma, she was there, wide-eyed, trembling and visibly on the verge of crying. Still, she looked up at the two of them, addressing them in a tiny voice.
“Thank you for your mercy, Elders. I was afraid you would end up killing her…”
"I was bluffing", Perseus snorted. "I don't kill kids."
Jason shook his head. “Of all the cults, it is you people in the Brazen Aegis that should know Justice is not about mercy, but about fairness. She will receive what she has given, price for price. This is Justice, child. Remember its name.”
She nodded silently, and they set off with a heavy mood towards the Broken Tide’s compound.