Persepera
The 26th of Thargelion
The Year 4631 in the Era of Mortals
A knock on Arche’s door surprised him. It was early, perhaps an hour before sunrise, and he was in the middle of cleaning the Tridory with a rag and a small bucket of water. The suite Sisyphus gave him was larger than any living space he’d had so far, consisting of an ornately furnished bedroom and parlor, the latter of which was covered in his equipment as he conducted rudimentary repairs and maintenance. The knock came as a single rap, heavy and sharp. Arche half-stood from his chair out of instinct, ready to fight, before he remembered where he was.
He placed the Tridory onto the table, then pulled a shirt on and moved to the door at the far edge of the room. There was a very short list of people who would be calling on him before dawn and his heartbeat quickened at the thought that Tess might be on the other side. When he opened the door, however, it was Aima’s face that met him, pale and shivering.
“What’s wrong?”
Aima grabbed his shirt by the collar and drew him close, her hands trembling.
“Blood,” she hissed breathily.
Arche grabbed her wrist with one hand and put his forearm against her collarbone to keep her from lunging at him.
“Calm down,” he growled. “You’ll have it – but not like this.”
His hand glowed softly with orange light. Her eyes dropped to it, registering the threat as she released him and took a step back.
“The thirst is strong. I need to drink. Quickly.”
“Come inside.” He waved her in, pointing at a chair. “Sit.”
Aima sat, fists clenching and unclenching. Arche walked to a cabinet and brought out two goblets. The first, he set on the table next to an empty chair. The second, he filled with wine gifted to him from Sisyphus. Setting his arm on the table, he flexed it a few times then he took out his knife. A quick jab later and the blood was flowing. He set his arm over the empty goblet and waited for it to fill. As soon as the bloodletting began, Aima’s nostrils flared and her eyes started to glow a deep red. Arche watched to make sure she wouldn’t attack, but she had apparently gotten herself under control. When the goblet was full, he removed his arm and passed it her way, using Minor Heal to close the wound and restore the missing Health.
She took the cup and held it to her face with both hands, drinking deeply. Arche fought the urge to yawn. The spell might replenish his Health, but it didn’t replenish missing blood. He took a sip of the wine, mindful that the alcohol would hit him harder.
“We haven’t talked much,” Arche said. “We should fix that.”
Aima said nothing as she drained the last of the blood. As she set the goblet down, Arche noticed that it was somehow clean, not even a smear left. Did vampirism make blood naturally flow toward their mouths? Or did they have really long tongues to make sure they didn’t miss a drop? The thought sent an unpleasant shiver down his spine as he thought of the scars on his neck.
“I don’t like what you’ve reduced me to,” Aima said.
He blinked away his distraction and refocused on her.
“You’d prefer to kill people?”
“At least I didn’t feel like a beggar.”
Much of the color had already returned to her cheeks, turning them flush and rosy.
“What do you want, Aima? What do you really want?”
She bared her fangs. “That is not your concern.”
“Oh, well, thank god for that. For a moment I was concerned, but then you said not to be.” Arche gave her a flat look and set the wine down. “Seriously. I have no intent or desire to make you a prisoner, but I can’t just have you running around drinking people.”
“Then why not simply kill me and save yourself the trouble?”
Arche put his elbows on his knees and rested his chin on his clasped hands.
“Are you a monster?”
Aima’s brow furrowed. She searched his eyes, then brought her gaze down to her own hands.
“I am what I was made to be.”
“Would you like the opportunity to be something else?”
Her eyes shot back up.
“Yes.” She growled the word like it was a concession.
“Then help me help you. What do you want?”
Her face twisted. Doubt and distrust danced along her brow.
“I want to exist without being hunted. I want to be able to live in peace.”
Arche nodded. Truth, perhaps, but not the whole truth.
“And I will help you to that end. To get there, though, we’re going to need to trust each other. Can you do that?”
Aima looked away.
“I tried to kill you when we first met. I felt your fear, your hatred of me. You wanted to kill me, then, and afterward. I could feel it through the veil I placed on your mind. When I look at you, I still feel that anger simmering below the surface. Now, you offer me peace. How am I to accept it? Which face is the true godling? Are you the god or the man?”
“I am Arche Enyalius. I am both and neither. I hated you from fear, but I don’t fear you anymore. I have to believe that a monster is not all we are destined to be. If I can help you be something more than that, something good, then maybe there’s hope for the rest of us.”
Aima looked away, watching the soft light creep through the morning window. There was still plenty of time before sunlight would shine through it, but dawn was making its way on the world.
“My love died,” she said. “His name was Alastor. It was an accident. He surprised me while I was cooking and I had a knife. A simple, stupid thing. I was banished by my people but I never stopped searching for a way to fix what I had done. My search brought me to necromancy, then it brought me to sanguimancy, and I studied both. I found others along the way. Masters of occult and forbidden knowledge. They told me they could bring him back. For a terrible price, they gave me a ritual of blood that was said to create a manner of undeath so like the living that many wouldn’t be able to tell. I infiltrated my people, stole his body from his entombment, and under their guidance, I cast the magic.”
Aima swallowed hard.
“The ritual was not meant for the already dead. I thought I had modified it enough, but it twisted beyond my control. It fed on me instead. It turned me into what I am before you. Alastor became my revenant. My people caught me, entombed me deep underground, and erased all records of my existence. Alastor became my guardian until you woke me.”
Arche turned his eyes to the table where his weapons laid. Second among them was the Revenant Rib Kopis, fashioned by Aima from Alastor’s rib. He lifted the sword from the table and offered it to her.
“This belongs to you, then.”
Aima stared at him as though she expected him to snatch it away or ram it through her chest at any moment. Arche pressed the hilt into her hand and leaned back in his chair.
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“I’m sorry it didn’t work.”
Aima looked down at the bone.
“He’s gone, now. Any last vestige of him is lost to me.”
“You have your memories of him. You have your mindscape. Keep him there. Find peace, for both your sakes.”
Aima nodded. Arche took the goblet from her and began the process of filling it again.
“This will cover you for the next week, right?”
“Yes. Your blood is potent.”
Arche snorted.
“Good, because that’s about how long it will take us to get to Myriatos. I don’t think it’ll be a good idea to feed you onboard Captain Blackdog’s ship. It would also probably be wisest if you kept to yourself as much as possible. There’ll be a lot of people and the good captain knows quite a bit more than he should, already. I’ll get you more when we get there. Sound good?”
“Agreed.”
He handed her the filled goblet and started closing the wound. She drained it just as quickly as the first and left the goblet on the table as she stood.
“Your tenacity is admirable,” she said. “But we will see how long your conviction lasts when you stand against the world.”
Aima opened the door and came face-to-face with Tess, who had her fist raised to knock. The two stared at one another for a long moment, then Aima side-stepped and walked quickly away. Tess stepped inside and shut the door, then saw Arche healing his arm.
“What happened? Did she attack you?”
Arche waved his hand to calm her down.
“Freely given, as per our bargain. No, we just had a chat and a drink. You want one?”
“It’s barely sunrise.”
“Eh, five o’clock somewhere.”
Tess gave him a bemused look, then shook her head.
“How long have you been up?”
Arche shrugged.
“Few hours? All night? Not sure. What brings you here so early?”
Tess produced a series of books and tools from her inventory and laid them on the table.
“Skillbooks, courtesy of Rune. A courier delivered them this morning.”
“Excellent,” Arche picked one up and looked it over. “Is everything ready?”
“It should be. Already sent your payment to the Lyceum, so that debt’s been wiped away. We’ve put the word out for everyone to be at the docks before midmorning. Once everything is packed aboard the ship, we’ll be off.”
“Excellent, then there’s no time to waste.” Arche quickly dumped everything into his inventory and equipped his mantikhoras armor.
Tess touched a hand to his cheek, her thumb caressing one of the silver scars that lay there.
“Are you sure you’re all right?”
“I’m good. Why?”
Tess gave a small smile that made his knees weak.
“Because whenever something’s weighing on you, you stop sleeping.”
Arche paused.
“It’s hard not to think about all that’s happened. All I’ve learned. It’s also hard to know what’s coming. I’ve got a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach and I’d like to get back to Myriatos as soon as we can. I think we’ve been away far too long.”
There was a bark from the corner of the room. Both Arche and Tess turned to see Argos, who had clearly just woken up and was currently stretching in a small patch of sunlight. He’d received a bath since his rescue from the treasury and his fur gleamed with a soft, green hue.
“There, see? Even Argos agrees.”
The blur hound padded over and nuzzled Arche’s hand. Tess knelt and ran her fingers through his coat.
“You know where to find me if you need to talk.”
“Thanks, Tess.”
Before he could say any more, a third knock sounded at the door.
“Fuck me,” Arche sighed. “What is it now?”
The door opened to reveal Autolykos.
“King Sisyphus requests your presence.”
Arche looked back at Tess and Argos.
“Immediately?”
“That’s generally what it means when a king summons you, yes.”
Arche sighed. He turned and caught the Tridory as Tess tossed it to him, and gestured toward the door.
“Right. Lead the way.”
The guard captain turned and strolled along the palace’s passages, his hands in his pockets, with Arche, Tess, and Argos trailing behind. They passed a few of the royal guards on their way, each snapping to attention as they walked by, but Autolykos merely nodded in their direction.
“I have to offer you my personal gratitude,” Autolykos said. “Life here has been very boring for a long time, but now that the King is free, things will start to get more interesting around here.”
“What do you mean?” Arche asked.
“The king has been trapped here since he first entered Tartarus. Now that he is free, there is much of it he wishes to see.”
“Oh, I suppose that makes sense. What about you?”
Autolykos shrugged.
“I’ve been here as long as the king. I’ve had a little more freedom than him, but not much.”
Arche tried to wrap his head around that for a moment.
“So…you’re…”
“Dead?” Autolykos shrugged. “I suppose. But I steal breath, same as any other man. I eat food and dream of women. I’ve lived this life longer than any other. Who is to say my life before was not death and this is life true?”
Tess looked utterly baffled.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“Once you’ve lived through an era, it’s hard to tell. I remember the gods and I remember everyone else forgetting them.”
Arche considered that.
“You were human, once, weren’t you?”
“As can be.” Autolykos gave a little bow. “Those the gods have taken notice of rarely get the pleasure of a short and simple life. The longer we live, the more we can suffer. Just ask my grandson. Ah, we’re here.”
Autolykos rapped his gauntleted fist against a heavy, wooden door three times, then opened it, ushering Arche, Tess, and Argos inside. Sisyphus sat upon an enormous throne of gold, large enough to seat three men together but just big enough to contain his massive form. The king was in discussion with five men in long robes, but he stood as soon as he saw Arche. The men stepped to the side, their gazes souring when they saw who had taken the king’s attention from them.
“Enyalius! Thank you for coming. Please, step forward.”
Arche glanced at Tess, then did as he was told. He stood before the throne, unsure of what the proper protocol was. A man would certainly kneel, but a god would do no such thing. He was neither and both. A moment of awkwardness passed and Arche inclined his head.
“Your Majesty, I was told you wanted to see me.”
“Indeed. I understand you are leaving today. I could not let you go without delivering to you a final gift.”
Sisyphus snapped his fingers and a servant handed a scroll to the king. He took the scroll, then held it out to Arche.
“This is an offer of peace and trade between your people and mine. I would like you to take this to your city lord. If the details are pleasing to you, sign it. If not, I will await your revised terms. Additionally”—on cue, two guards brought forth a chest—“this chest contains three talents. All in drachmae, of course. Liquidity for your village. A small token of my thanks to you.”
Tess’s breath caught in her throat. Arche didn’t know what a talent was, but he was keenly aware this wasn’t the time to ask. He accepted the chest and passed it to Tess.
“Lastly, I would bestow upon you a title. For services rendered, I name you hero and friend. May all my people show you the same kindness that you have shown me.”
A notification appeared in Arche’s vision.
King Sisyphus of Ephyra has designated you as an Ephyran Hero.
Reputation with Ephyra: +100,000 (Beloved)
“Your Majesty, I don’t know what to say. Thank you. This is too much.”
“It’s not enough,” Sisyphus said. “I have had a long time to consider things. The man I was, the circumstances that led me to my punishment, the man I want to become. Because of you, my dreams are given the chance to become reality. You have my everlasting gratitude.”
Sisyphus’s mighty form folded and knelt before Arche, followed by every guard and servant. Even the robed, elderly men who looked on in obvious distaste bent the knee.
“A king shouldn’t kneel in his own throne room,” Arche said. “Please, stop.”
“We are grateful to you, King Sisyphus,” Tess said, stepping up beside Arche. “We graciously accept your gifts and we wish for a long and happy alliance between our people.”
Arche nodded at her, thankful for the assistance. Sisyphus rose, as did the rest.
“Go in peace and friendship, Enyalius. You are always welcome in Ephyra.”
Autolykos ushered them out the door and then they were alone. Arche and Tess looked at each other, both speechless. Finally, Arche shook his head.
“Let’s go home.”