The light of dawn did not come for the soldiers of the rival city, who were gathering outside the walls to begin marching on Epidaurus. Troilus and Nergal stood on a hilltop overlooking the scene of the massacre. From afar, it seemed almost beautiful, elegant perhaps, Troilus thought, as the hot wind of fires lighted throughout gently brushed against his hair. Only the screams of the living, the clashing of their steel and the wails of their frightened horses pierced the air. The army of dark figures Nergal had conjured from the spirits of his former comrades crept silently through the masses, leaving only bloodied corpses in their wake. Summoned forth by an unknown token in the darkness, Nergal beat his steed into a gallop down the hill and disappeared into the frothing smoke below. On his return, the severed head of the city’s king bounced unceremoniously down on the grassy earth in front of the captain’s horse.
“The city is yours,” Nergal hissed victoriously.
Before the first cold light pierced through the veil of darkness, all the dark figures had dissipated into the ground, and nothing remained of the ominous rider and his horde of silent assailants. Only a murder of crows pierced the silence of the aftermath, as they perched on the scattered corpses, calling their brethren forth to feast on the dead.
Troilus led his horse down through the blood-soaked fields, the head of the former ruler fixed onto a metal spike. The gates opened to him, and the streets of the conquered city filled with the sorrowful cries of the wives and children of those who lay broken beyond. Troilus paraded his trophy to the palace without a word, half believing he was living a dream, a dreadful vision of things that shall never come to pass. Yet the other half of his soul drank deeply from the cup of victory, for as bitter as the drought was, a golden crown of laurels was nested on his head the following day, as he was crowned king by the unwilling remainder of his former foes.
He alone sat at the victor’s table, as he summoned the servants to bring him food and wine from the cellars. He did not allow music to be played, for he found it to be an unpalatable reminder of his brother’s dominion. In the uneasy silence that governed over the dining hall, the women’s stifled cries did nothing to brighten the already sullen atmosphere that reigned throughout. The new king found such manifestations to be displeasing to his appetite and ordered the guards to whip the crying out of them. Upon finding that this heightened the intensity of their cries, he dismissed them all and remained in dining all by himself, accompanied only by his dark thoughts. His hatred for his brother had grown with the distance he had put between them. He had thought that such an easy conquest would make him forget of his past rivalry. But now that he was himself crowned ruler of a city, he began to feel as if it was not enough – Orpheus was still the more beloved by his people, and the gods, and even the beautiful dryad who he had asked to be his wife. The thought of this made him want to crush the very goblet he was drinking from.
“There is a thirst in you that cannot be quenched with wine,” the coarse voice came again, and he watched as the armored figure came in from under the archway and took a seat at his dining table.
“Revenge, we call it,” Troilus replied with a malicious smile. “For it is not enough that I sit now in the palace of a city I have claimed to be my own. My happiness turns to ash as I partake of it as long as my brother can still be called fortunate.”
“What is your wish?” Nergal inquired.
“I desire to return to Epidaurus, to strip my brother of what he holds most dear. He shall know the torment of days spent in longing, as I have for so long.” Troilus hit the ancient wood of the table with his fist, making the golden goblets tremble and topple down on the floor with a metallic clang.
“And what might you take from him to cast him down?” Nergal’s eyes flickered with the burning hatred that echoed deep down in his soul.
“His beloved wife,” Troilus whispered ominously, in a voice not unlike the dreadful God’s.
Chapter 6
Iphigenia awoke in the loving arms of her Orpheus. She watched him sleep as the sun caressed his cheek through the eyes of her new found love for the god, and remembered when she had first seen him, asleep under Aphrodite’s spell. She smiled as she rose up and dressed, tasting the refreshing summer wine that the servants had left for them in their chambers. As the beloved queen of the city, she passed her days in bliss, as she imagined the goddesses might, in the magnificent halls atop Mount Olympus. Her husband sang as she lay on the silken sheets of their bed, humming the beautiful melody that sprung forth from his gilded strings. She seldom thought of her bow and quiver, of the thrill of the hunt and the feel of the branches as they slowly ran through her hair in the midst of the forest, in the silent pursuit of some wild boar or hare. Her heart was at ease, and time seemed to have halted, lingering on this perfectly carved moment of unsurpassed joy.
One night, her dreams were dissipated by the ominous sounding of the horn atop the gatehouse of the city wall. It howled with long, lamenting cries, bringing forth the rumors of danger stalking beyond the safety of the great iron doors. Orpheus was first to rise from their bed, alert of the impending doom that came crashing down with the sound that had disturbed their sleep. Wanting to be a queen worthy of such a great city, Iphigenia rushed to clothe herself and join her husband as they hurriedly made their way to the guards’ post atop the wall. As they climbed the stairs and beheld the hills beyond the crenellations, Iphigenia’s heart sank as she saw the lights scattered throughout. As Orpheus talked to the guards, she clutched the cold stone of the wall and peered over into the vast darkness beyond. What she had first perceived as faint torches, come from as many men, surrounding the castle to the distant horizon along the forest tree line, were actually… pairs of eyes, peering with burning desire toward her!
She shuddered and backed away from the ominous vision, to join her husband who stood on the gatehouse, overlooking the path towards the city. Two riders came forth from the mass of forces, carrying no torches to light up their visages in the dark of night. Two banners flew from poles in their hands, long and trailing wisps of black fluttering in the thin wind. They stopped beneath the walls, to call out to Orpheus. She recognized the one that spoke immediately. It was Troilus.
“I have returned from war victorious. The city in the north lies conquered,” he declared in an arrogant tone.
“I am glad of your conquest. Yet you do not fly my banners, brother” the king answered.
“They are my banners now. Haven’t you heard? I am a king as well. Just as loved by a God as you are, brother.”
“What God may that be?” Orpheus asked. It was not his brother’s voice that came forth with the reply.
“Nergal. God of Death, War, and Pestilence.”
“And your army? Has it sprung forth from the same putrid bowels of earth that spewed forth your new God?”
Nergal’s stallion trod the earth furiously chomping at the bit, airing the wails of a dying creature.
“I will not open the gates to you or your false god. Be gone from my sight, you have become a scourge on the earth,” Orpheus demanded with a sober tone.
His brother laughed as a reply.
“You misunderstand your situation, Orpheus. I am not your cur anymore, to command and dismiss as you please. I shall make the demands. And you shall obey my bidding, lest you want your people to die a slow and horrible death. How many days’ worth of food does your great city have? My army does not eat or drink, and we can lay siege until the last one of your lot has perished of hunger. I left you with as small retinue of archers, most of which have never notched an arrow against a living foe. Surrender to my terms, Orpheus, I do not ask for much.”
“I shall do no such thing.” The king turned and clasped Iphigenia’s hand. He then made his way to the stairs, leaving his brother at the gate.
“You shall regret your early parting!” Troilus cried after him.
“Fire!” the king gestured towards his men, who had notched and stood at the ready. A
dozen arrows flew towards the two riders.
Nergal raised a hand, and the shafts turned to ash before reaching their intended targets. As Orpheus and Iphigenia made their way down the stairs, a volley of arrows, like a black cloud descending down a mountain flew down on the gatehouse. The archers fell, pierced by the dark shafts that dissolved as they hit the ground.
“Wait here,” Orpheus left Iphigenia on the stairs and returned to speak to his brother.
“I have given you shelter, and a home, food and drink and freedom to hunt and fight and live a happy life at my side. What more could you desire?” he shouted towards Troilus. “What does that black heart of yours want from me?” his voice boomed with anger.
“Your wife,” Troilus replied smiling.
Iphigenia’s heart sank in a pool of ice as she heard Troilus. She leaned against the wall and listened. It could not be that the men atop the wall had died to protect her. It was not possible. And Troilus, who had not even glanced at her at her wedding, who had called her a foreign dryad queen, who had belittled her in front of the whole banquet. How could he now want her? She looked down at the city that lay just below her. The noise had alarmed its inhabitants, and torches had sprouted from the houses around the walls. They were perhaps hearing the exchange between the king and his traitorous brother and would soon find out that she was the cause of this army amassing to bring their fair city to its knees.
“Iphigenia? You must be mad!” Orpheus exclaimed in shock and disgust. “What could you possibly want from an innocent soul that has never done you any harm?”
“The dryad shall make a wonderful servant. I shall have her pour me wine every morning as I wake. Give her to me now, or she shall pour it in your skull,” Troilus demanded as Nergal stood by his side, motionless.
“I shall never give her up to the likes of you. Come daybreak, your horde of shadows shall disperse under the light of Apollo, and you shall be cast down into Hades.”
“Come daybreak,” Nergal hissed and let forth a guttural chuckle.
The terrible god extended an armored hand towards the sky. A cloud of dark fumes gathered and shot into the ether, obscuring the new moon that glinted in his dark steel plate.
“There is no morrow coming, my king. Surrender the dryad, or you shall not again cast a shadow upon this earth.”
Cold an ominous winds swept across the hills, rustling through the forest and crashing into the walls. Orpheus felt their icy touch pull at his toga and hair. “Never!” he cried, and turned his back, descending the stairs to take his Iphigenia back to the palace.
As Nergal had foretold, no light shone that day on the marble city. A perpetual twilight loomed eerily throughout the land, as far as the eye could see. Heavy mist settled on the streets, and all were afraid to leave their homes and kept a silent vigil, awaiting a word from their king. Orpheus had withdrawn alone in the war room and sat sullenly in his great seat, overlooking a map that could not aid him in his battle against a force so powerful that it could block the rays of the sun from entering the city. He turned all food and drink away, and dismissed all servants who would come calling on him. Hours turned into days as Iphigenia waited patiently for her husband to return to their bed, to her embrace. But he did not come.
As she walked through the empty streets of the once prosperous city, eyes peered at her from the windows of the houses. She felt them bore into her, as she made her way towards the wall, and the pressure of their gaze weighted heavily on her shoulders with every step she took down the cobbled street. She gasped for air as she ascended the stone stairs, to glance upon the sieging army outside. No one had manned the walls since the first attack, and large streaks of congealed blood marked the places where the archers fell on the first day.
She slowly stepped to the battlements and looked down towards the army. She shuddered at the sight of their ember eyes, unmoved, still fixed towards her. The sight made the blood run cold – it was a nightmare made flesh. A shuffling sound came forward from the ranks, and as she turned to leave the unsightly scene, something from the darkness called back for her.
“Has my brother had a change of heart? I encourage you to use the door, precious; I can’t guarantee I’ll catch you from so high up,” the voice of Troilus came sneering.
Her blood boiled with anger and she turned towards the direction of the sound.
“Orpheus will never bow to someone like you,” she yelled and felt her voice tremble with fear as she spoke the words. Silence came, and she regretted having given in to the taunt.
“Let’s see if I can change that, then,” Troilus retorted. “What did he say? That music softens the heart of any foe? Pray, tell me how he likes this tune.”
Without another word, a sea of insects rose from the hills surrounding the city. Their buzzing came roaring towards the wall, in crushing waves of infernal dissonance. Iphigenia turned and ran towards the palace. She could feel the awful things claw at her cheeks and shoulders, catching in her hair and robes. She screamed wildly flinging her arms around her to scare them off her, and by the time she was inside, she could not shake off their touch from her skin.
Orpheus rushed to her side at the sound of her distressed cries and beheld the horrific swarm as it washed over the houses. It was gone as suddenly as it had rushed in, and in its wake, left the bloated corpses of the souls that had not sought sanctuary inside.
Iphigenia cried deeply as Orpheus carried her to their chambers, and could not fall asleep for a long time, as the awful sight lingered in her dreams as well as her waking hours.
Orpheus played his lyre to her and soothed her with honeyed words, but nothing could put the queen’s heart at rest.
“It is my fault,” she kept repeating, her green eyes lost in an empty gaze. “I have brought ruin upon the city. Can’t you see?” she looked at Orpheus as he sat beside her.
“You are innocent, my love,” Orpheus replied in a warm and loving tone. “It is my brother who cast this on us all.”
Iphigenia sighed painfully. “I am not innocent. Please, let me surrender so that you and your people may live once again in prosperity. Let this nightmare end,” she cried.
“I will do no such thing. My love, you have not slept, and your mind is weary. Do not say such things.” Orpheus looked at her with tears in his eyes.
Iphigenia drew a deep breath and closed her eyes. “There is something I need to tell you,” she paused, drawing her courage to go against what the goddess had advised her and confess the truth to him. “I am the reasons the fires do not burn in the temple of Artemis.”
Orpheus drew back in surprise. “How so?” he asked.
“I have lied to you. My kin is not dead. They have shunned me because I slew one of the gilded stags of Artemis. When my crime was discovered, Artemis made my father renounce me and cast me down, to leave the rest of my days as a wild animal, cowering in fear. I stood in the cave and waited to die, and then I heard your sweet song, and I felt alive again. But I was wrong to deceive you; I was wrong to follow you to your city and bring only misfortune to you and your subjects. Forgive me, but I fell in love with you so deeply, and I feared that after telling you the truth you too would forsake me.”
Orpheus looked at her for a long time and said nothing. At length, he caressed her hair gently.
“I forgive you, Iphigenia. And I shall protect you. You need to trust me.”
New tears streamed down the dryad’s cheeks. “But can’t you see? I have caused so much pain in this world! I don’t want people to suffer anymore. Please, surrender me to your brother and let us end this torment. The days I spent as your wife and queen were more beautiful than I could ever hope, more than I ever deserved. My life has been good, but you cannot sacrifice an entire city for my sake. I will die of a broken heart seeing all these innocent souls fall one by one as you refuse to give me away. Please, I beg of you.”
“Get some rest, my dearest one. We will talk more once you have awoken.” Orpheus
embraced her and turned to leave. “You are very brave to offer yourself to save the people of Epidaurus, and it makes me love you even more.” He smiled and left her alone in the empty chamber.
Sleep did not come easy for her after Orpheus had left. Her dreams were restless and plagued by dark visions of death and destruction, but exhaustion had made its mark on her body, and she, at last, fell into a deep and dreamless slumber, which lasted for what seemed like days. She was awoken at last by piercing screams coming from the city. As she opened her eyes and remembered the dire situation in which she had fallen asleep, she rushed to the balcony and looked over the city. Cries echoed throughout the streets.
“Blood! The river runs red with blood!”
She descended the stairs of the palace and asked the servants what had happened. What she had heard was true, they said. Nergal had changed the water of the river that ran through the city into blood. People looked helplessly on as their only source of fresh water was now tainted. Orpheus had opened the wine cellars, and given all his wine to quench the thirst, but the stores had already run dry, and they would not last long on wine alone.
Iphigenia ran into the streets, and to the bank of the river, to see it with her own eyes. The metallic scent of blood could be strongly felt as she approached the river. Women lamented on its shores, as they dragged out the amphorae coated in glistening red. The miasma was nauseating. Iphigenia fell to her knees and began crying. It was all hopeless, she thought.
“This is not the time for tears shed in vain,” she heard a woman’s voice and looked up to see the high priestess of Artemis approaching her.
“You are the queen of these poor souls. What will you do to alleviate their pain?” she asked as she sat down by her side.
“Troilus has unleashed all these terrible plagues because Orpheus refuses to surrender me to him. I tried to beseech him to let me go so that his city may be saved, but he will not listen. I don’t know what to do,” Iphigenia replied.
Daylights Affliction (Faded light Book 1) Page 4
