Chapter 2
THE KING'S ASSASSIN
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The High Priest addressed Achilles, son of Poseidon.
“Brothers and sisters of the Sacred Brotherhood of Delphi,” he began his lecture. “We gather here today to initiate Achilles into our cause. This young warrior before you have successfully completed his Trial. He put an end to a tyrant, an arrogant king of Greece who dared to compare himself to the Gods!”
Many murmured in shock. Phillip was arrogant, but to ascend himself to godhood was unknown to many. But the Gods know better the hearts and minds of man.
“Such blasphemy could not be tolerated!” continued the High Priest. “The Father of the Gods, Zeus himself, ordered his assassination!”
Heads bowed as Zeus’ name was mentioned.
“By the power vested in me by the ancient Olympians, I call upon you, Achilles, to stand before me”.
Achilles, approximately 17 years old, stood tall before the entire Brotherhood. He possessed a mature physique with a well-groomed beard on his chin. His chest was exposed, revealing a peculiar mark resembling a burn.
“Now, you stand here in front of the entire Brotherhood,” the High Priest continued, holding a dagger. “Almost a thousand years ago, after the bloody war on the sands of Troy, three war heroes—Odysseus, Neoptolemus, and Philoctetes—stood in this very place and created our Sacred Brotherhood. It is a society of warriors and priests with a singular purpose: to maintain the faith in the Olympian Gods and to punish anyone who opposes or dismisses them. They vowed to destroy those who defy the Gods, just as they vanquished Priam, his sons and countless kings and rulers before and after his time. They sealed their agreement with blood”.
As he concluded his sentence, the High Priest sliced his palm with the dagger, causing drops of blood to flow. He collected the blood in a golden cup.
“Give me your hand,” he said to Achilles.
Without uttering a word, Achilles extended his hand.
“This might sting a little,” the High Priest whispered.
With a quick motion, he cut Achilles' hand, allowing the blood to flow. Another priest took the golden cup and collected the running blood.
“The time has come,” the priest proclaimed, handing the cup with the combined blood to Achilles.
“Drink it,” he commanded.
Achilles drank without hesitation.
“You have been blessed with the gift of Water Manipulation, bestowed upon you by your father, the Ennosigaios Poseidon. By consuming our combined blood, your abilities, senses, and combat skills will be enhanced. We will assist you in mastering and harnessing your power. And you, child of the Gods, you will listen and obey to their will!”
Achilles finished the cup, consuming every drop.
“I hereby induct you into the ranks of the Warriors. Your new life begins now. You knelt before me as an Initiate. Now rise… as an Argive!”
[…]
The hall was silent. Only the footsteps of some servants could be heard. Alexander was standing there, inside the stone structure. In front of him was the casket with his father’s body. There was nothing godly about him now. Only rotting flesh and endless darkness. He would hope that his father would enter Elysium, but he doubted it. Phillip surely was a great fighter. But a hero, worthy of Elysium, he was not. He did not try to be like the heroes of Iliad or Odyssey. The only thing that he mimicked was the passions of the Gods. And now, his punishment would be Tartarus.
Eumenes, the royal secretary, approached him silently.
“Tell me, friend,” said Alexander. “Do you believe in the Gods?”
Eumenes stood for a moment, deep in thought.
“I believe that even if the Gods exist, we have managed to kill them ourselves.”
Alexander laughed softly.
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“You always were a strange and unique man, Eumenes. One of the smartest people I know. But you are wrong. The Gods are real. And they are the ones responsible for the death of my father”.
Eumenes sighed in disbelief.
“My friend, many are those that in their time of grief blame the Gods or any other entity to make sense of their mourning and pain”.
Alexander turned and looked him directly in the eye.
“He told me. He speaks to me”.
Eumenes thought for a moment if the Macedonian king had lost his mind.
“What do you mean?” he asked, afraid of the possible answer.
“Even if I told you, it would be fruitless. It is not possible for you to understand yet”.
Alexander moved to the exit of the room.
“Eumenes, one more thing”.
The secretary bowed before him.
“Anything you want”.
“Find any hidden legends on the Gates of Hades, in the Indian Peninsula. In many years from now, we will go there to seize its power!”
[...]
The representatives of all Greek city-states were there to honor the passing of king Phillip. Even some more civilized clans of Illyria, Thrace and Dacia had sent some diplomats too. Alexander was standing in front of the casket that contained the body of his father. The late king seemed peaceful there, almost like he was asleep after a day of feasting with his fellow soldiers, like he used to do back in the day. Beside him stood Parmenion and Antipater, the old guard, both with sixty winters on their backs. Behind them stood Hephaestion, Ptolemy, Perdiccas, Lysimachus, Seleucus and Eumenes, the close circle of Alexander. All silent, ready to send Phillip to his last residence.
“Like a flower that withers and like a dream that comes to pass is the life of a man” said the priest, giving a nod to Alexander to proceed.
Alexander placed two coins in his father's eyes.
“And a coin for the Ferryman,” he said, placing a coin in his father's mouth.
They all descended from the wooden structure; he ensured it was grand to honor his father's memory. He desired the people to remember Philip as the God he claimed to be.
“It appears even Gods can die,” his best friend, Hephaestion, remarked.
“I am with you, brother. I stand by your side,” Ptolemy added.
Alexander nodded. It was a challenging time for him. Four men carried the bed of the king at the top of the wooden structure that would serve as a pyre. After the cremation, Alexander had created in only a few days a great Tomb Chamber at the small town of Vergina, which served as the Cemetery of the Greek Kings of Macedonia. Now his father would join his ancestors and the kings of this land, before him.
“The time has come,” he whispered to himself.
Taking a torch from a nearby soldier, he observed as others poured pitch onto the wooden structure, ensuring it would burn more readily. Alexander ignited a line of pitch with the torch, and the fire quickly spread, engulfing the tower. He held back his tears, refusing to appear weak.
“I will avenge you, father... Curse the Gods, I will. Whatever it takes,” he declared through gritted teeth before retreating into the palace.
He then moved back to his quarters and locked the doors, desiring solitude and refusing to see anyone. He didn't eat anything until Ptolemy, his half-brother, approached him in the afternoon.
“Alexander! Enough with your mourning! The men are waiting for you. Your time has come,” Ptolemy urged.
There was no response from Alexander. He knew that his brother was right. The time for mourning had passed. Now he would become the absolute monarch of the kingdom that his father built. He would stand tall and honor his father’s work. But he would not just be a king. His heart desired much more. So much more that only a god could offer him those things. But he was certain that this voice inside his head was the one to lead him there.
Five minutes later, the doors opened, and Alexander emerged fully armored. He wiped away any remaining tears from his face and drew his sword. He made his way to the grand balcony where his army and thousands of his people awaited him. As they caught sight of him, resplendent in shining armor with his sword gleaming in the sunlight, they erupted in cheers.
“Alexander! Alexander!”
Ptolemy stepped forward, holding the crown in his hands.
“Hear me, Greeks of Macedonia, Thessaly, Athens, and Corinth. I present to you the new king of all Greeks, excluding the Lacedaemonians. Hail our king, Alexander!”
Placing the crown upon Alexander's head, Ptolemy proclaimed:
“Long live the king!”
The generals joined in unison, shouting:
“Long live the king!”
The crowd echoed their cheers.
Alexander raised his sword, pointing it towards the sky.
“Oh, Greeks, relinquish your thrones and give them to me and I promise to give you the whole world!” he declared, prompting thousands of voices to cheer.
Everyone reveled in jubilation, except for Ptolemy, who stood apprehensive and concerned. He briefly glanced into the king's eyes and was startled by what he saw. While one eye remained its natural green color, the other exhibited an unfamiliar shade—a blackened red reminiscent of the color of Hades.