That morning, in the crimson light of a new dawn cracking over the hills, the gates to the city opened for the king returning to his city. He was not riding his golden mare, but instead led it by the bridle, with a young woman sitting on its gilded saddle. The reddish hues of the first rays of light played in her long tresses, caressing her fair cheeks and throwing warm reflections over her tattered dress.
All the subjects of Orpheus stopped to see him as he made his way towards the palace with his new bride. The crowds cheered as they went by, and threw rose petals in front of them. They went slowly up the cobblestone causeway, and Iphigenia bowed her head as they passed under the shadow of the statue of Artemis. Her heart plummeted as she saw the priestesses atop the marble stairs, but remained silent, and instead chose to throw a glancing peek towards the beautiful god that led the mare by the bridle.
Troilus heard the commotion in the streets from his chamber and surmised that the king must have returned. He went directly into his chamber and looked over the scene from the balcony. At first, he did not understand what was happening – the crowds cheered as if Orpheus was returning victorious from some war. Yet when his eyes beheld the image of Iphigenia atop the golden mare, his heart sunk, filled with envy. The dryad radiated with her copper hair and piercing green eyes, a true consort for the true son of Apollo.
Troilus felt his anger flaring looking at the two as they made their way into the palace. He retreated into the cool shadows of the palace, and, unseen by the servants who were crowding to tend to their new mistress, he decided to make his way to the barracks to speak to his men.
Evening crept beyond the windows of the barracks as they passed the time with wine and dreams of conquest. At length, the soldiers asked their captain whether he would not prefer to greet his brother the king and meet his young new wife.
“My dearest brother will not mind my unannounced absence tonight, as I have not minded his. As you know, he does not have a mind for the affairs of war, and much more so now, when he has been conquered by Cupid’s arrows.”
The palace resounded with music and laughter as Orpheus threw a lavish banquet in honor of Iphigenia. They sat at the center of a generously laden table, filled with scented game and exotic fruit. The fragrant red wine poured in the golden cups, freeing the spirits of the patrons. The dryad looked over the court as they danced and sang and raised their cups to her health, but she could not join them in their merriment at the thought that she might soon bring the wrath of Artemis upon all of them. Wild rabbit and deer roasts were sprawled on golden trays before her, but she felt the soft flesh turn to ash in her mouth as she tasted it. She barely spoke, and when she would address those around her, faint whispers would come out of her full lips. After a while, Orpheus noticed her melancholic gaze and began to worry that all the lavish delights he had conjured up were not to the liking of his new queen.
“Is there something wrong, my love? Are you displeased with the banquet?” he asked, touching the milk-white skin of her shoulder that was protruding from her beautiful silk robe.
“My king, it is absolutely magnificent! I feel unworthy of such splendor,” she replied, forcing a smile to put her lover’s heart at ease.
“Yet there is something that saddens you, I fear,” he pressed, gently grabbing her hand. “Please tell me.”
Iphigenia looked at him in silence, masking her alarm. After a pause to consider what she might reply, she whispered, “I’ve lost my kin and I miss them dearly. I wish they would be here, with us, on this most wonderful day. That is all.”
Orpheus came closer and embraced her lovingly. He held her tight to his chest.
“I am sorry to hear that, my beautiful Iphigenia,” he whispered to her in a sorrowful tone. “I promise you that tomorrow morning, at the break of dawn, we shall go together to the temple of Artemis and make a sacrifice to honor your kin, who are the loyal subjects of the Goddess. She shall see that their souls are led safely across the Styx, to the beautiful fields of Elysees.”
My fate is sealed. Iphigenia thought, for she could not refuse her husband’s offer, nor could she deny that her kin were worshipers of Artemis. She could cry, but she stayed her tears, so as not to spoil her last joyful day with the sorrow of tomorrow. She thanked Orpheus and drank deep from her cup of wine so that she may rejoice in the banquet and put her dark thoughts aside. The morrow will bring me to my knees, but today I am happy, holding the hand of the God of Music, and filling my heart with his love-laden songs.”
A drunk Troilus stepped forth from under the arches of the candlelit dining hall. He made his way across the room in uncertain, wobbling steps, fixing his brother who had got up to greet him with open arms.
“Brother! You have come at last!” Orpheus said, and the music faded away to allow the king to speak. “Come and sit with me, on this most fortunate of days and meet my young wife, Iphigenia.”
Iphigenia rose to greet the captain, but he did not as much as look at her.
“By the gods, Orpheus! A foreign queen! And a dryad at that! Indeed you are your father’s son.”
The smiles of all the people in attendance vanished, as candles fuming in the wake of a pale of wind. Iphigenia sat back in her velvet chair next to her husband, still as a wax statue.
Orpheus looked over the silent dining hall and smiled pleasantly.
“Surely, you jest, brother. Now, let us…” he began, raising his drinking cup to start a toast and continue the celebration.
“The enemy is not sleeping and… merrymaking as we are, brother,” Troilus interrupted him in a grave tone. He staggered as he stood before the table, but his eyes bore straight into his brother’s.
“Are we in danger, Troilus?” Orpheus asked, concern lining his features.
“A report came on activity in the north several days ago. A rival city is gathering up their forces for an attack. It would have reached your ears sooner, were you not passing time in the forest playing love songs to… dryads. Your lack of concern with affairs in your city is putting us in danger. You, brother, are more fit as a minstrel than a king.”
A few gasps echoed from the crowd. The silence that followed clung heavy as a cloud of smoke throughout the hall, growing denser and more uneasy as the two brothers stared at each other, not sure what to say next.
Orpheus straightened himself and cleared his throat. As he began to speak, his tone changed from his usual lightness and became even and grave. The melody in his voice was gone, and he sounded foreign to all in attendance.
“The captain is clearly in his cups and cannot discuss matters of the state tonight. I shall see you in the morning when the wine has left your strategic mind. You are dismissed.”
Troilus made a faint gesture to open his mouth and protest, but as he leaned forward, the guards posted at the entrance straightened up and clasped their swords. Hearing the ominous sound of metal clinking, he subsided and slowly staggered towards his chambers like a beaten dog.
The scene had done nothing to ease the tension, and silence lingered in his wake. Orpheus sat back by Iphigenia’s side and resumed his cheerful disposition. He took up his lyre.
“Music is sharper than any blade and softer than any cushion. It runs deeper than sleep and wakes unfathomable emotion in the hearts of all creatures. Your minstrel king shall keep you safe and prosperous until the end of time, for no hatred runs so deep into the core of the enemy that I cannot soothe it with my lyre!” he said, and bowed in the applause and cheers of his subjects. He then began to play a tune so soothing, so divine, that all dark thoughts and fears melted away in the night.
Iphigenia felt the heavy spell of sleep creep onto her eyelashes, and with a sincere smile on her face, she coiled into her lavish seat next to Orpheus and gently dozed off in his loving embrace.
Sleep did not come as easy for Troilus that night. In his twisted dreams, the voices came again, stronger and stronger, until he could hear them in his waking hours. He rose just before t
he crack of dawn and heard them coming down the hallway. They resounded ever more vividly off the marble walls, and he followed their trail down into the dark catacombs deep beneath the palace. Half dazed from the night of heavy drinking, he lit a torch and flung it forward, sending veins of light down into the black abyss below.
“Troilus…” they beckoned him further, through winding cobwebbed corridors that had waited in silence, not feeling the breath of the living for centuries. He trod deeper and deeper, until the voices overpowered his thoughts, raging around him and inside his mind, like an endless hive of mad insects.
A pale of stale wind gutted his torch, leaving him surrounded by the pitch of complete darkness.
“Come to me,” a deep, guttural voice sounded off the rounded ceiling.
“Who goes there?” Troilus asked, peering blindly ahead of him. The darkness gave no sign, but the voice echoed again.
“You do not know me by name. I am here to give you your heart’s desire. I know you. I have seen you. You seek to overthrow the weak and take what is yours. I shall give you the throne.”
Troilus felt his blood rush to his temples. “What must I do in return?” he asked, and eagerly awaited the answer.
“Renounce your gift of light and rise against the father who has abandoned you.”
The coarse whispers boomed with ominous tones, and unseen creatures began buzzing around him. “I will give you an army.”
“Show yourself, and I will pledge my soul to you.”
He took a few steps as the beast opened its terrible eyes in the void and he beheld its visage. The fires in the temples of the twin brothers Artemis and Apollo went off with a thin wisp of black smoke, together with any other torches that had been aflame to cast light onto the sleeping city of Epidaurus. The morning spread its crimson fingers, curling into their thin veil of smoke.
Chapter 4
“We must strike first before the enemy gathers their strength to march on the walls of the city!” the voice of Troilus echoed in the empty war room. Orpheus sat on the other side of the table, his chin resting on his fist, and his eyes fixed on the map set between the two.
“Let me gather my men and plan a swift attack, to silence our rivals and cull their ambitions so that they shall not pursue us further.”
Orpheus sighed. “Your heart grows colder, brother. Tell me, what have I done to anger you so?” he looked towards Troilus with what resembled pity in his eyes. The captain felt his blood boil.
“This is not about us! The enemy will be at our gates in a few days! How are you so ignorant of the danger?” the harsh echoes of his voice bore down on Orpheus.
“I see the danger,” Orpheus replied in a hushed voice, turning away. He was about to get up and leave the room when a servant rushed in.
“My lords! The gods have forsaken us! The flames in the temples of Artemis and Apollo have gone out!” he cried, half crying with despair.
The two rushed out of the palace to make their way towards the temples. The wails of the six priestesses of the gods pierced through the morning air up to the balcony where Iphigenia stood, watching over the entire scene. Her frail figure rested on one of the cold marble columns, trembling like a leaf in the wind. Tears did not come to her – the time of weeping for her fate had ended. Instead, she watched from afar as her husband raced to appease the gods, to restore their good will. It was all in vain, she thought, and as long as she would keep silent as Aphrodite had counseled her, her husband was never to find out what he had done, how he had doomed his people by falling in love with her. Under the shadow of the great Artemis, the high priestess looked up to find her gaze. It was then that Iphigenia began feigning a crying fit, with all the grandeur and masterful elegance deserving of an amphitheater.
The fires in Apollo’s halls came ablaze from the offerings Orpheus put forth, yellow and orange tongues eagerly biting into the scented wood. The king was left alone, and he prayed to his Father until Helios had mustered his fiery stallions well past the hills beyond the city. He lay still, with his head bowed before the altar, and waited for Apollo to shine down upon him. That night, he did not return to his chambers to the warm embrace of his love, but instead, lay asleep on the cold floor of the temple.
His father came to him in his dream.
“It seems as if the wolves have circled me, father. Tell me what I must do,” he asked, and his voice seemed strange and distant, lost in the deep haze of the dream.
“Let loose the mad dogs. They are corrupted, and shall lead you to your demise,” the answer came clearly, and Orpheus opened his eyes.
No fire caught in the braziers of Artemis. Troilus had gone to restore the temple’s flame, but none of his offerings would catch and burn. The high priestess watched as he toiled over the cold ashes, and said nothing. At the nightingale’s first cries, Troilus descended the stairs of the great temple, leaving it silent and dark behind him.
On the morning of the next day, Iphigenia woke to an empty bed. Orpheus had gone to his brother as soon as his vision from Apollo had come to him, and was sending Troilus to war. The captain gathered most of the men in the barracks, leaving a token force behind to man the city walls. They stood in the great plaza beneath the palace, and the two brothers exchanged a short a cold farewell. Iphigenia stood on the balcony and watched them march away down the street and under the city gate. After the dust had settled in their wake, she felt a warm hand caress her naked shoulder.
“There is nothing to worry about, my love. You are safe here, with me,” Orpheus whispered and leaned his head against her white arm.
“The servants said the flame of Apollo burns,” she replied, passing her fingers through his golden curls. A faint refreshing breeze came floating down from the forest beyond. She shivered lightly as she gazed into the distance.
“Yes, his light shines upon us once again. Yet, Artemis has not accepted any sacrifice made, and her temple lies cold. It seems the huntress has forsaken us, although I have not done anything to anger her.” Orpheus looked over the city, stopping over the dark temple.
Iphigenia paused. I must not be afraid. She closed her eyes and whispered, “Embrace me, my love. Your hunt is over.”
“You are right.” Orpheus smiled and turned to her. His arms reached around her thin waist as he buried his face in her hair. Iphigenia laughed as she took the golden crown of laurels from his head and laid it aside on the table. Her heart filled with joy as she embraced Orpheus and she thanked Aphrodite for granting her the confidence and strength to rise above her past.
As the sun set over the distant hills beyond the city gates, they stood in their loving embrace, their eyes lost in wonder, fixed on the starry trail of stars. The crickets sang that night to the God of Music and his queen, as they talked and laughed, and fell asleep just before the darkness of the summer night was lifted.
Chapter 5
Out in the north, Troilus and his men had made camp for the night, and scouts had been sent ahead to survey the gathering of enemy forces around the foreign city’s walls. Their horses had been already exhausted from the forced march, and they were taking too long to come back. The men sitting around the small campfire were already worrying that they had been discovered and slain before they could bring any word back. The soldiers, having full flasks of wine, drank themselves to sleep one by one, until only Troilus was left awake and staring blankly into the flames before him. The horrid image of the beast he had pledged his fealty to came back to haunt him as soon as he would close his eyes, and the fire did little to alleviate his uneasiness. At length, the faint sound of hooves alerted him to a rider approaching. Thinking it must be one of his scouts, he left the fiery cone of light and went to meet him so that he might learn news of the enemy’s plan. As his eyes slowly began to perceive forms in the dark, he saw that the rider was no man he knew. It was no man at all. Beyond the subtle reflections coming from a dark set of full armor, a pitch black smoke writhed around what faintly resembled
the figure of a man. Two fiery eyes went ablaze, like two drops of molten glass sprouting forward from the gurgling furnace. It sat atop a dark courser with flowing mane and shining coat, which bit restlessly on bit as it trod the ground, foaming red at its mouth.
“I have come,” the coarse, deep voice he was now familiar with spewed from within the helm. “I am Nergal. God of Death. And I have come to lay your enemies dead at your feet.”
Troilus looked towards the figure and swallowed his fear. He took a step forward and demanded in a commanding tone, “I was promised an army.” He stared into the embers of Nergal’s eyes.
“A thousand and one armies and a sea of blades made of the finest steel known in this world would not begin to equal my power,” Nergal replied hissing.
Black wings as dark and vast as a moonless sky extended from the back of the armor. Nergal’s steed whinnied and reared, and they both began fuming. The floating pitch of their form twisted and melted into the windless night as a violent humming began to rise around Troilus. Rider and horse became a thick cloud of foreign insects that extinguished the campfire as they descended onto the sleeping soldiers. Their screams filled the air with dread, as Troilus turned to see all his forces consumed by the roaring cloud. He wanted to protest, but before he could open his mouth, the empty armor and clothes of his men fell to the ground, limp and lifeless. As the floating sea of insects rose and flowed over the surrounding field, a dozen thousand black silhouettes began to form, aligned in march formation. Their eyes sparkled with a fraction of the fire in Nergal’s eyes, and all of them looked up towards Troilus as the last of the insects gathered into the former rider behind him.
“I am your army,” he roared triumphantly, as Troilus overlooked the perfectly aligned rows of soldiers awaiting his command. “Let us begin.”
Daylights Affliction (Faded light Book 1) Page 3
