ã€ŠBlood Of The Lyceumã€‹


 Chapter 1 - Stewing in Misery

    My name is Androdamos of Lycaon, and I have slain and replaced my gods. I sit now on a throne that once belonged to Zeus, sipping wine from Dyonisius¡¯s goblet. The Aegis of Athena leans on my golden throne alongside Hermes Caduceus. Hades¡¯ helm, still spattered with Ares¡¯ ichor, rests upon my knee. Before me lies an empty throne room. The thirteen seats of the mightiest Olympians are cold and for the most part on their way to dust. It is night, yet not dark. Olympus, being so close to the moon and sun is, rarely, truly dark and the final embers of Hestia''s hearth cast warm light over my face. There is not a soul around, no servants nor supplicants. Here in a place that once never slept, silence reigns.

    On this lonely mount, I ponder. I toy with the ends of Zeus¡¯s lightning bolts, letting flickers of pure energy arc from fingertip to fingertip. Most old gods are dead, and all their symbols of power are mine. I am the Risen god of Everything. Risen, for I was not born on the slopes of Olympus, nor was I raised by the ¡°great¡± family that called it home. Lycaon, my hometown I detest so, is a hamlet whose only claim to fame is how it once was a grand city, grand enough for its king to host banquets even Zeus would attend. It is said, on one such banquet, the king decided to test Zeus¡¯s omniscience by serving him human flesh. While scholars of my youth would tell of how Zeus saw right through this ruse, and righteously punished the arrogant king by turning him into a foul combination of wolf and man, I could easily see that arrogant, senile god getting halfway back to Olympus before he realized the deception, the ¡°punishment¡± really more petty revenge rather than any carrying out of justice. Why kill most of the king''s fifty, yes fifty, sons in addition to twisting his form?

    No, real justice was the severing of that foul king''s head from his shoulders. Justice was my march up the slopes of Olympus. Justice was my slaying of all the minor gods, godlings, nymphs and monsters that tried to protect the old fool. Justice was my sparing of the innocent. Of Persephone and Hades, who had been locked in the Underworld and torn from their duties. Of Athena, who knelt and let the cycle of the young replacing the old turn. Upon my blood, now ichor, upon my soul, now glowing with power, any divinity that did not take part in the slow and agonizing extinction of man did not see my blades. I did not threaten Hephaestus nor Hestia. Nor Hermes, nor Hebe. Those who did not seek to strangle man to death all seemed to know that their time was simply over.

    It still curls my lips into a snarl just thinking of it. Zeus, in all his lordly intellect, found man lacking in devotion to the Gods. Despite how we put up with Aphrodite turning our kings to foolish wars, despite how we tolerated Ares shameless bloodlust, it was not enough. A quarter of everything we produced in our lives, from wheat scratched out of sand to kingdoms worth of gold, went to the Gods. For daring to have lives of our own, lives not completely under their thumbs, we were to be starved and set against one another. Zeus closed up the doors of Olympus and bid all who served him to let humanity die.

    This train of thought rouses me from my seat. The marble and silk thing looks to me now as a monument to such horrid creatures, not simply a couch. I gather up my trinkets of all kinds, symbols of godly power. A strand of Aphrodite''s perfect hair, woven into a bracelet, is among the least strange. I must look as a madman, what with this collection of odds and ends clattering and clicking as I walk. Their essence seeps into me, for it is mine my right by way of conquest, but it shall take time for them to fully incorporate. This is still bothersome however, even though wheat ripens all the same if holy scythe or divine hand is waved at it. What matters more is the god who holds the scythe or such divinity.

    I am pulled in a thousand, thousand directions at every moment. Like a hide pulled taut and left to cure. Everything, every motion and cog of existence and nonexistence in my domain is demanding my attention. I can without any misplaced arrogance call myself the greatest warrior born to Graece. I have killed things so foul that it is a crime in certain city-states to speak of them, lest they soil more of humanity than they already have. I have survived being poisoned by blood of both Hydra and Centaur. I¡¯ve been cursed to rot from the inside by Circe and lived. I¡¯ve been keelhauled by the tyrant of Lycaon. I am made of bronze, soul and flesh. But this pain? This feeling of every single thrush in the bush and lap of the sea demanding my attention? The continent of Graece and its islands scream for my attention and it is worse a hundredfold than anything else I¡¯ve experienced.

    It is like being stretched by fish hooks over a searing stone. It is like trying to hold an ocean of burning marbles in my hands. It is like being crushed between two frigid glaciers. It is like no other pain, as alien as the deep sea, but somehow personal, tailored to torment me perfectly.

    So I stand gazing out at what is left of Olympus, silent in my agony. There are far fewer lights than there once was. So many gods and many divine but lesser beings had stood in my way. I had emptied Olympus, not just taken the ¡°best¡± of the crop.

    ¡°You could have spared a handful of them. Those who offended least and little.¡± Said a quiet and even voice behind me and to my right.

    I turned and looked at the specter. I said nothing at first to the shade, what was once Pallas Athena. The Goddess of Strategy had been a hale woman, of high cheekbones and with the withering stare to match them. Yet now she seemed to have lost some of that constitution. Translucent and gossamer, she hung tautly in the air. Her spirit was being drawn into the void, back into the arms of Chaos, yet she lingered still. It was truly a credit to her bronzed will. House of Hades, Hephaestus didn¡¯t last an hour after he gave me his tools. Yet here she was, a little under a week after she had willingly given up her Aegis.

    ¡°You know I needed every scrap of power I could get to finish my task.¡± I replied.

    ¡°Ah yes, to defeat Zeus, King of the Heavens and God of Lightning, you needed Priapos¡¯s dominion over gardens.¡± She said dryly.

    ¡°He didn¡¯t give me much choice.¡± I said, turning back to the vista in front of me.

    Framed by the night sky and pierced by bright stars, Athena drifted in front of me, looking me in the eyes with inquisition in hers. She was hung in the air roughly ten feet from solid ground. I could already see where this was heading and I didn''t need to possess the gift of Prophecy to do so.

    ¡°The very power you sought now tears you apart from the inside.¡± The shade said simply.

    ¡°Yes.¡±

    ¡°You cannot control it properly.¡± The Slayer of Pallas said, gliding a little closer.

    ¡°And the latter bothers me far greater than the former as the very reason I took up the task of deicide was to save humanity and with my attention spread so thinly as it is, I am keeping humanity alive by the thinnest of margins, yes, yes. I know.¡± I snapped back.

    The Goddess tilted her head slightly and crossed her arms.

    ¡°And yet you insist on keeping the load firmly on your shoulders? For what? Pride and machismo? There is still a handful of gods out there. Good ones, those you already spared.¡±

    She punctuated her point by gesturing towards a collection of lights, a large and well lit house. Androdamos¡¯s new sight told him that there were three gods inside, huddling around a sooty fire.

    ¡°You could alleviate your problems within the evening by giving up some of your Dominion. I doubt any would refuse even the least of your plundered symbols.¡± The Goddess finished, interlocking her fingers over her stomach.

    I sighed. And looked down into my goblet. Purple tinged stars floated on its surface. I watched the wine''s ripples glide and flow. Bouncing from centre to edge. They slowed, then the wine became still. With my eyes, more perfect than any eagles, I could see my reflection on the surface. I looked¡­. tired. In my strong and pronounced features, perhaps a bit too much to be considered very handsome, I glimpse bagged eyes and sallow skin. My eyes hold a haunted look. Even in his last moments, a dying Zeus had more fire, more determination, more of anything really in his eyes that the New God looking back at me does. My old slave mark, a lightning bolt that stretches from the bridge of my nose to almost my hairline, itches under my gaze. Being put there by a divine meant it would never leave my face and I would never forget it was there. Sometimes it merely itched, like tonight, and other days it felt like a hot coal was smeared across my face. It looks red and puffy now. Almost infected.

    I open my mouth to say something and before I can get anything more than a weak ¡°I..¡± out, something in the wine catches my eye. Among the glinting in the sea of purple is a constellation. Ursa. I turn and look up at it. I stare at it for a while, feeling fire build in my guts. I traced the lines of stars with my eyes. I pointed at what you would call the Big and Little Dipper.

    This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

    ¡°That is why I will not share this power with any old god.¡± I said, shattering the silence.

    ¡°Ursa?¡±

    Athena narrowed her eyes.

    ¡°No, Callisto and Arcas are whom you speak of.¡±

    ¡°Yes, the She-Bear, transformed from Queen Callisto for the ¡°crime¡± of being Zeus¡¯s paramour of the week, and the son who almost slayed her. ¡°Luckily¡± for them, they were turned into stars before Arcas could throw his spear.¡± I grumbled out.

    ¡°And why is that particular story the root of your argument?¡± Asked Athena.

    ¡°Cruelty is one thing, vengeance is one thing, thoughtlessness is what really damns the Olympians in my eyes. What makes them untrustworthy beyond doubt¡±

    I took a breath.

    ¡°Most of the old gods were never human, they were the result of unions between the elemental forces of our world. Not for one second were they mortal. They embodied concepts. They lived for thousands of years. To them, mortals like I were cattle. Perhaps smart, pretty cattle, but cattle nonetheless.

    Yet we did not live as cattle, beings raised solely for their meat or skins. We lived outside of providing the most possible offerings to the gods. We live and lived as humans, for that is what we are. Yet the gods did not see us as something more, they saw us as defiant or sick. What else do you call a cow that gives only a quarter of its meat or milk? For all the gods left in Olympus and I think even you Athena, we are utterly inconsequential.

    For even Ares, a god who had once already been wounded deeply by a mortal, could not even conceive that a mortal could match him or any other god. Humanity was just that far below him in his mind, and this was far from a rare opinion among the gods I slew. They had never been people in the way I use the word, the way the Athenian philosophers use it. They could not connect with humanity in a real way.

    A child may look upon an ant nest and appreciate their shiny carapaces and industry, but he will never know what is good and bad for the ant¡¯s as he can never really be in the head of an ant, should we assume the best of his intentions. That is why I will not give power to any old Olympian, for that would prolong humanities death rather than stop it. A handful of tyrants, well meaning or not, utterly and totally disconnected from their subjects. It is why I had to slay the children crushing my nest.¡±

    I took a steadying breath.

    ¡°No being not born of humanity should rule over them.¡± I finished.

    I strode over to the opposite edge of the forum and set my cup down, resting my hands on the smooth marble railing, feeling the weight of five ages on my shoulders.

    I look out into the easterly ocean, not truly looking at it. Hm. MY cup. I turned what was once Dionysus''s prime symbol of power over in my hands. Somewhere along the line it had ceased to be his, a trophy taken once, now firmly a part of my horde of like artifacts.

    Yet now that makes me feel so empty.

    I turned my gaze again to the ocean. I felt Athena float closer to me. It was silent for a moment.

    ¡°Not all the old gods were so distanced from humanity as you say.¡± Began Athena

    As always you hit the nail squarely Athena. I thought, as this line of questioning had simmered unexamined in my mind for a long while.

    ¡°My lord?

    ¡°It¡¯s nothing, continue.¡±

    I could sense her reorient herself.

    ¡°The god whose cup you drink from was the spawn of Zeus certainly, but his mother was mortal. The gods bore many demigods, and it was not uncommon for them to be elevated to true godhood upon their demise. Many of course perished in your ascent and assuming that half of the remaining risen demigods are unfit in your eyes for such duty, there would still be a fairly substantial number of gods with a strong connection to humanity. Give them some of your powers.¡±

    I shook my head. ¡°All were raised up because of some great service to the old gods, not always a great service to humanity. No, they are the chosen of the gods, what they wanted humanity to emulate. To put them in charge would be putting those who only knew the whip behind it.¡±

    This seemed to displease the Goddess, as she unlaced her fingers and made sharp gestures with her freed digits.

    ¡°You once again have all the power in our domain and nowhere to put it to use. Somehow every god and demigod are unfit in your eyes. You had two choices between beings meant to hold such power and outright rejected them both. Somehow, you have made monsters, the only other being who could take more than one domain, seem like the best option. ¡± Chidded Athena in the careful, measured manner of hers, before floating back to the central hearth.

    I remained leaning on the railing. I could hear the ocean waves far below. I almost chuckled wryly at how much serenity the lapping of waves on sand used to give me. How those parties with my old demigod companions used to ease my worries. Now those fond memories were coloured by the intense realization of just how much clockwork went into those gatherings. How much labour it takes for a mortal life to be lived well when only one is at the helm.

    I have precious few other being from which to share my load with.

    Not gods, not half-men, nor the furthest thing from men. All are insufficient in my mind.

    Wait. I¡¯m skirting around something. Humanity. If I cannot give back this power, why not instead seed it?

    I stood upright. My mind raced. Certainly a normal human could hold one domain? Just one. They would have to fit the domain very well, embody the philosophy of their domain in mind and flesh. Not to mention they would have to be very strong to take the strain of accepting their new power. I cast my mind to the first true god I slew. The heady rush of power, it felt as though I was being washed away by a flood of sharp straw, yet I mastered it. It hurt yes, but not as bad as Centaur blood. For a regular, healthy human it would be terrible, but the strong, willful and bold could handle it.

    But I could not let just any random street urchin try their hand at divinity. There must be a screening process of some kind. A fine sieve to shake those who would again crush their fellow humans with their new powers out. That alone will not be enough however. They must be shaped, given direction. I would not be so cruel as to make each hopeful take a path at all similar to the one I walked. Flailing in the dark, making all sorts of mistakes, killing all the wrong people. No, a school of sorts must be constructed. To educate and mold the hopeful into the gods they could be. It must be the finest of schools, the wonder of my domain.

    I had direction once more. I could help my people, all people, do what I set out from Lycaon to do so long ago.

    This and more I muttered to myself, in the gloom under the stars, in the dying light of Hestia''s hearth. I hardly took notice of Athena drifting silently above me, and I never knew that in that moment she had a sly smile on her face.

    I called out for any servant and messenger that remained on Olympus, to the shade of Hermes, to any semi-divine picking over the rubble of Olympus. I bid them to spread word of my great school, of my mighty Lyceum. Of the Pythion Lyceum. They scrambled to heed my first real order as King of the Heavens as well they should have. Soon, every man woman and child who lived in my dominion would hear of my grand design.

    Ah, and on second thought, why not let semi-divines try their hand at real godhood, alongside the non-ascendant demigods? Provided they passed through the screening test I needed to prepare of course. It would have to be a stringent one, to weed out those who would herald in the old order once again. Punishing the children for their fathers sins would be a terrible way to being my rule as King of the Heavens.

    But yes, all those not carrying the old and foul orders shall have a fair shot at divinity, at becoming a god. That should be an excellent start to my new kingdom. Anyone, from slave to king, helot to spartan, shall have the opportunity to become more. A chance, however small, is a chance nonetheless. No more shall gods pick favorites, and I¡¯m not so blind as to realize I have some of my own biases.

    Already muttering to myself about how such a fair and unbiased test should work, I sashay into a side room, one filled with slate to write upon. Upon its black surface I draw lines of gold. They outline the first of my plans. I hardly take notice of the horde of shades, drawn in by the scent of destiny around my work.

    By the flames of hades, I hope this works.

 Chapter 2- Get up, get livin

    Chapter 2

    Just outside of Pythion there was a small hill. This particular hill was not particularly special. It was green, covered with once soft, now slightly scratchy, grass. Around it bloomed new and golden fields of wheat. At its precipice there was gnarly old oak. It was one of those stubborn sort of trees. Those who had watched the land long before Prometheus shaped man from clay. Now that crops actually grew, many a farmer would hide from the noon sun under its boughs, fanning themselves with their straw hats. However, if there were any farmers seeking shade on this particular noon, they would find the comfortable nook in the tree''s twisty roots already occupied.

    Slumbering under the green boughs was a satyr. He had brown, tanned skin and goat hooves. A coat of darker brown fur grew from his ankles all the way up past his hips, thinning a little bit above them. Around his slightly pointed ears curled grayish rams horns, which were still slightly white at the tips, betraying his youth. He wore naught but a subligar and loincloth. Such modesty was rather uncommon among satyrs. Most just went naked. His hat, a floppy and shapeless thing, rested under his head. At least, a corner of it did. The other three quarters were flitting in a cool westerly breeze, swatting the unconscious semi-divine on the face and scalp.

    Finally awoken by his hat, Eoren (for that was his name) sniffed abruptly. He slowly sat up, smacking his lips. As he sat in the bright noon light blinking his eyes, he clumsily rooted around for his waterskin. Finally grasping the worn leather and horn pouch, he put it to his lips and promptly got three drops of water.

    ¡°Gnah, traitor.¡± He muttered, tossing it lightly towards the bundle where his other possessions were stored. He stood up slowly and stretched theatrically.

    ¡°Welp Grandfather, it has to be said that your roots just ain¡¯t that comfy.¡±

    The tree said nothing back and the satyr moved over to his bundle. Said bundle was, to put it bluntly, packed with junk. It was a credit to Eorens strength that he had hauled this square cloth full of rusty iron, mouldering wood and random seeds all the way from his home.

    ¡°I¡¯ve slept under all manner of trees on my wanderings Gramps, in bushes, all the spots a proper Satyr would sleep in.¡±

    Pressing his hat down on his head, Eoren picked up his walking staff, his Thyrsus. About five feet tall, made from giant fennel wood, wrapped in wine vines and topped with the largest pine cone Eoren could find, it was a far cry from the divine staff it was modeled in reverence of. The vines did not twist dramatically around his haft like snakes, neither did honey drip from the pine cone at the tip. Did have a good heft to it though. Pressing on with the arduous task of getting ready, Eoren began to fasten his bundle to it, making a bindle. After he finished he stretched once more and an audible crack emanated from his back.

    ¡°Aw that''s the stuff.¡± He said contentedly. He turned back to the tree, bindle on his shoulder.

    ¡°Hear that crack, old coot? I¡¯ve slept under pine trees more comfortable than you! Ya hear me? Less cosy than fucking pine trees man.¡± He said, trailing off into muttering. He turned and began to walk away from his resting spot, but halted abruptly.

    ¡°How the Hestia you pick that up gramps?¡± He said, looking at one of the larger roots anchoring the tree, which had a gash in it that went all the way to its core. It was a terrible wound, sap oozed from it and pooled on the ground beneath it.

    ¡°Some farmer''s little punk put that into you for fun? Or was it some sun fevered farmhand not looking where he was swinging his hoe? He grumbled, lightly touching the wound.

    ¡°Folks should know better than than, tsk tsk tsk.¡± He said to himself, rummaging around in his bindle for one of the scant few useful items inside.

    ¡°Aha!¡± He exclaimed, producing a pipe flute from the garbage. He puffed a few experimental notes through it, and evidently satisfied, he tooted out a short little song.

    ¡°Alright old man, I¡¯ll give ya a hand but just know I¡¯m outta practice and never was that good at this shit to start with.¡± He huffed, gesturing at the trunk of the tree with his pipes. Then he put the reeds to his lips and played a shrill, yet strangely calming song. Like he said, it wasn¡¯t the finest of renditions but the oozing sap began to flow back up into the root and clot before his eyes.

    ¡°There.¡± He said. ¡°That should stop infection from taking.¡± He set out again, tooting some random notes. He got all of three steps before he groaned and took three back.

    ¡°Alright, I suppose I owe ya a little for keepin the rain off me. If this drains me too much and I don¡¯t get into the Lyceum, I¡¯m coming back and using you for bark soup.¡± He snapped, then put the pipes back to his mouth. He played a much longer song, and the root closed itself up, a thick skin of bark covering the scar left by the wound. By the time he was finished a couple beads of sweat had formed on his brow.

    ¡°There.¡± He muttered. ¡°Now don¡¯t you dare think of mouthing off to me to the other trees. The Poplars already have it out for me, I don¡¯t need Oaks pissed at me as well.

    He hefted his bindle onto his shoulder and tapped it a few times to get a feel for its weight.

    ¡°Now, may the gods grace you and your fine home.¡± He said in mock politeness, holding his hat on his chest and bowing.

    For the last time he turned and walked away from the tree. He clattered his way through a small path that parted the golden seas. In the distance Mount Olympus loomed, its tip obscured by clouds, which was far from unusual. Much closer however was the city of Pythion. Once just a small town, it had exploded in population overnight, filled far past the brim with supplicants, those who came to beg forgiveness from the gods and those who came to profit off of them. In a way those early petitioners had succeeded, by Eoren¡¯s estimation at least.

    The city looked much like you would expect a rising city state to. Many small and slightly crude dwellings surrounded much nicer houses which were half built. The beginnings of a curtain wall was peaking over the tops of the shorter outbuildings. Even from here it looked incredibly busy. The stand out feature of the city however, was the Lyceum. Sitting on top of and spilling onto the side of one of the larger foothills that surrounded Olympus was a stunning white marble building. It was all graceful columns and flat, perfect walls. One could see into the yard the walls enclosed from this angle, for it was not a fully roof structure. In a half flat and half slanted court, hopeful godlings sparred, worked out and attended lectures. It bore a striking similarity to a rendition of the original ancient Lyceum of Athens Eoren had seen once on a vase.

    Feeling a twinge of nerves in his gut, the satyr fished a clay pipe and some skunky herb out of his bag and began smoking it.

    He was about halfway through his bowl before he came across a farmer and his cart. A pile of bright red apples was held in the small cart, and it had the look of something that would be pulled by manpower, which was supported by the lack of any draft animal. It appeared that a small stream ran through this road, not more than an inch deep at most, but plenty wide enough to make some mud. The farmer was about knee deep in said mud and trying to push his cart out of it. He was sweating up a storm and clearly not making much progress.

    ¡°Need a hand?¡± Said Eoren. The farmer paused, his hands still splayed on the back of his cart. He looked back at the voice and blinked in surprise.

    ¡°A satyr? You¡¯re going in the wrong direction friend, the vineyards are back the way you came.¡±

    ¡°Noted, but I¡¯m not in Pythion for its wine.¡± Replied Eoren.

    ¡°I could use a hand yeah, if you don¡¯t mind.¡± Sputtered the farmer.

    ¡°I¡¯ll give ya two if I can get one of those.¡± Said Eoren, pointing at the apples and already setting down his pack.

    The man looked at the cart and back to the satyr.

    ¡°Sure, this is my third cart of the day and my boss can deal with two apples that fell out of the cart.¡±

    The Satyr hopped into the mud alongside the farmer, who moved his hands to make space for him to push.

    ¡°Generous.¡± Stated Eoren between heaves.

    ¡°One¡¯s for me, greedy goat.¡± Replied the farmer.

    The pair had much more success. In no time at all the cart was free and back on the road, no worse for wear. Little dirty though.

    ¡°I¡¯ve heard tales of the followers of Dionysus'' strength. Glad to see they were even half true.¡± Said the farmer, tossing an apple of Eoren and biting into one himself.

    ¡°Yup, got the strength of three men in my arms!¡± Bragged Eoren, flexing his arms.

    If he did indeed possess such strength, the farmer could not discern it from his form. For a servant of Dionysus he seemed a little skinny and lacking a gut. Not terribly skinny, just too skinny to justify the fact that he hardly had to do any work alongside the satyr.

    ¡°Well, thank you for your help¡­?¡± The farmer asked.

    ¡°Eoren.¡± Stated the satyr, already halfway through his prize.

    ¡°...Eoren.¡± Finished the farmer, as he sat down on the ground with his back against the cart. The satyr nodded a farewell and went on his way.

    ¡°Ah, if you find yourself short on work, look for Ango¡¯s Cider. We always could use more hands.¡± The farmer called out over his cart. Eoren hummed and nodded.

    ¡°We could probably pay you in cider, if you like.¡±

    Eoren nodded and hummed much more vigorously.

    So the satyr walked on through a forest of gold. It was a clear sort of day, with few clouds in the sky, though it wasn¡¯t terribly hot. A cool wind blew over the fields, making the stalks hiss. Perfect weather to end a long journey on. His pipe empty, the satyr walked in a light haze all the way to what passed for the gates of Pythion. It didn¡¯t look like much up close. Twin piles of stones and dirt flanked an iron gateway. A whole arch of iron was a great and showy expense, sure but its lack of a true gate made it an unimpressive welcome to Eoren. Farmers and townsfolk filtered in and out under the watchful eye of two guardsmen. Eoren watched as the leftermost guard stopped someone who had the look of a traveler and questioned him.

    Standard across most of the city-states, vetting of strangers wasn¡¯t really to keep a tab on who was going into the city (few city states had the manpower anymore for that sort of thing) it was more just a formality to make sure bandits and wanted criminals had a harder time getting into the town. Some of the more draconian cities only let respectable looking folks inside however. Something along the lines of ¡°keeping the city pure and safe.¡± Eoren found it unlikely that Pythion would be the latter, as there was no true wall to stop anyone who really wanted into the city. It made Eoren¡¯s skin crawl just thinking about how boring living in such a stuffy place would be.

    A guard began shouting at the wanderer and pointing back down the road. The ragged man huffed and slung his pack over his shoulders, throwing up rude gestures at the guard as he walked away from the city. Excellent, Eoren thought glumly. If he turned away a healthy but bedraggled man, an equally filthy satyr had little chance of getting through that gate. Stopping by another stream, perhaps a tributary of that last one, the satyr squatted beside it and washed the dust off of himself. Staring at his reflection, he pondered.

    Wise satyr, burdened with the lore of nature? Thought Eoren. No, if he had clashed previously with one, he would be unlikely to believe it unless I looked the part. Merry and mellow then? No, he¡¯d probably think I¡¯m drunk or something. The truth? Hm, might get laughed at, but let¡¯s not discount it. Wait, that cider place! Argo¡¯s cider? Arko¡¯s? Engo¡¯s? Ango¡¯s! It was Ango¡¯s cider.

    Eoren could have easily snuck into the city. He was half goat after all, he could scale a wall twice as high and not spill a drop from a full cup of wine. But that wasn''t really the issue here. Sure he could get into the city, but he wanted to stay in the city for as long as possible. Few things made guards more twitchy than a satyr sneaking around. Sitting fat and drunk on the steps of a shrine of Dionysus, perfectly fine, but every red blooded Graek had been weaned on a steady diet of tales involving the mischief of the Horned men. Not to mention it seemed a little foolish to duck a city''s right to just ask a couple damn questions right before taking advantage of said cities golden opportunity.

    Wiping the last of the water off his slightly animalistic features, Eoren stood and walked a easy, but purposed clip to the gate. The guard wore a bronze helmet with a brilliant red plume and a well sculpted leather cuirass. The satyr couldn¡¯t help but notice it wasn''t exactly the best gear. The cuirass was frayed around the edges and bleached a little and there was a miscolored patch on his helmet. Looked like a slightly sloppy fix job to Eoren¡¯s eyes. Regardless, the man fixed a hard gaze on the satyr.

    ¡°Satyr eh? We¡¯ve no need for more vagrants.¡±

    ¡°Lots of those types want into the city?¡± Said the satyr, straightening and leaning on his staff.

    ¡°Loads. Pythion is lucky to be host to two kinds; the regular trash and all those fools trying to get into the Lyceum. What¡¯s your business here goat-man?¡±

    Ah, Tarturus, he doesn¡¯t like the students, gotta lie.

    ¡°Welp, I can assure you I¡¯m no vagrant- or rabble rouser, like to keep my head down ya see- I¡¯m here to work.¡±

    ¡°Where?¡±

    ¡°Ango¡¯s Cider. They need someone to turn the screw press, ya know to crush the apples into juice.¡±

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    The guard''s eyes narrowed and Eoren knew he had made some mistake.

    ¡°Don¡¯t they have a mule for that already?¡±

    Shit, shit. Thought Eoren. Explain or make a joke? I could tell him a sob story about how the mule died or got sick. Or I could deflect the question a little. Can¡¯t be too much. Gotta go with joking, he clearly knows the shop, could expose myself more if I made up a story and got a detail wrong.

    The satyr gave a cool shrug.

    ¡°Guess they wanted another one.¡± He said, adding a note of laughter to his voice.

    The guard''s expression didn¡¯t change. Eorens mind kicked it up a gear, and he began to grasp for anything concrete to spin a yarn around.

    Let¡¯s see. The satyr narrowed his own eyes, very slightly. Older armour, but not very. Cudgel sheath angled forward, easier to draw quickly. Great. Suspicious of me obviously, but is it just satyrs or all outsiders, probably all outsiders as he turned away that other guy.

    A blink.

    I already know all that, what else? Callused hands, a working man but what kind? A full time guard is unlikely unless he¡¯s new and hasn¡¯t had time to let his hands smooth. A clean, flat scar just below his neck, too clean for anything but a man made weapon. A warrior at some point then? Speaking of scars, there is a rather large one curling from just below his kneecap to some point behind his calf. A highly unusual scar for a warrior to have, as the most likely perpetrator of said scar is an agricultural scythe. I knew a farmer who had fallen on his scythe and gotten a near identical scar, though it was on his torso rather than his leg.

    Okay, so he has a scar that only makes sense for a farmer to get, he could certainly be one, but what other evidence for that conclusion is there? He has a silver ring on his left hand and a bracelet of clay beads on the same wrist. Plain ring, but is there some kind of design on the beads? Yeah looks like there is. Black on red¡­. shield? The Sun? Damn, can¡¯t get close enough to examine them without looking suspicious. Hm, his feet are heavily calloused as well, despite the fact he¡¯s wearing battle sandals. Ah hah! City dwellers don¡¯t tend to go barefoot.

    ¡°Something on my feet?¡± Said the guard, looking Eoren in his eyes.

    ¡°Oh no, sorry sir, just ain¡¯t been around guards much.¡± Said Eoren, and this was the truth.

    ¡°You live out in the country?¡±

    ¡°Yeah, on a farm below Mount Chasia, a mountain not that far from here.¡± Which was a lie.

    ¡°Hm, what you grow?¡±

    Is now the time to lean into the satyr thing? Could come off as endearing or he could lump me in with satyrs like Owen. He¡¯s heard me out, maybe it could work.

    Eoren put on a light smile.

    ¡°Grapes, what else is there worth growing?¡±

    The guard made something between a scoff and a laugh.

    ¡°Alright then Mr Chasia, how would you go about making a wine sweeter? I worked at a vineyard ages ago and saw the process all the time.¡±

    ¡°Oh that''s easy-¡± Started Eoren.

    Hold on. That''s a really easy question. Suspiciously easy. You can just add something sweet to it when you drink it. Does he not think a satyr would know that sort of thing? Semi-divines famous for being perpetually intoxicated? No he isn¡¯t trying to ascertain if I actually worked at a grape farm. He''s checking something else.

    ¡°Well I mean, you could just add something sweet, honey maybe.¡± Said the satyr, stretching his words a little.

    What is it? What is he looking for? He said he worked at a vineyard. And, aha! He said process as well. There are only a couple processes that could be done at a vineyard and not a brewery to make a wine sweeter.

    ¡°But you said process I suppose. At my vineyard we always used to just boil the grapes.¡±

    The guard had parted his lips as Eoren first spoke, hopefully to not tell Eoren to scram, but closed it as he added the last part.

    ¡°Hm, glad to see you ain¡¯t another one of those meathead satyrs trying to be the next god of wine without knowing a single damn thing about it.¡±

    ¡°Yeah, imagine you get a lot of those types. Don¡¯t see much point in trying that sort of thing, what with already so many givin it a go.¡± Which was a more substantial lie.

    ¡°Go on.¡± said the guard, gesturing into the city.

    The satyr paused for a moment and clopped into the city. And after such a display of trickery he absolutely meant to trip over the supporting beam for the gate. Just to really sell the whole harmless thing. Definitely not because he was still dazed from the effort of lying to a guard while slightly high.

    And so he was in! Narrow streets branched off of a main thoroughfare. Hordes of people went to and fro. There was little idling, polite conversation. Some of the more narrow streets were so small as to only permit a single man walking through them at a time. This didn¡¯t appear to stop citizens from trying. Luckily the main street was plenty wide. That and the orderly pattern of cobblestone which abruptly unravels a foot off the path, gave the impression of a well built city plan which was simply overwhelmed. The fact that there was so much construction that cranes were swinging wildly over top of the crowd also lent to this impression.

    This slightly haphazard city spoke to Eoren somehow. He had just gone through the threshold and yet it already seemed a good place to call home. Easy to get anywhere important, but plenty of nooks and crannies for all the good sorts of fun to collect. Dice and gambling, prostitutes and food. Ah, it simply smacked of the very best kind of city. Perhaps he had been a little hasty in judging it at the gate.

    Maybe a little sampling of the streets is in order? His stomach grumbled at this thought. It was deeply tempting to put aside his task for an hour or two. It¡¯s only a little after noon, surely there was some time to spare?

    ¡°Nggh, nah¡­¡± Moaned the satyr. There would be time later, time to celebrate or commiserate.

    Slightly reluctantly, Eoren pushed his way through the crowd, all the way to the central Agora, that most elemental of any good Graek city. It did indeed take a little bit of pushing to get there. When he did manage to clamber through the crowd, he was not disappointed. The original planners must have anticipated the city growing very large and built for the next fifty years. The whole square had that solid cobble pattern that the road did. Low stone benches dotted the Agora. People were haggling, laughing, crying and gossiping on and over them. Hades, he even saw some people patting a victorious pugilist on the back, all while he picked up his teeth from the top of one. Most of the real market dealing took place on the southern side of the Agora, to Eorens'' right. There stalls of all shapes and colours were set up. Eoren saw all manner of things sold there at first glance, but decided if he looked any closer he would probably have to go look, which wasn''t in the cards right now. Straight ahead he saw the city continue and that perfect cobble road stretch all the way up the slopes of Olympus. While most of it was fairly mundane, if excellent craftsmanship, some of the steps seemed to be massive stone plinths jammed into the side of the mountain.

    Figures, perfect roads like these don¡¯t appear over twenty scant years without a little divine intervention.

    To his left is what the satyr had come all this way for. The Lyceum. It was even more magnificent up close. The white marble walls still seemed to shimmer like they were freshly quarried. The plain columns seemed just so regal in their simplicity. An elaborate frieze lay between the supporting columns and the sloped roof. Contrasted by the rest of the white building, it was a riot of colour. It depicted the Olympians. And did it in such a way unlike every other temple that Eoren had seen. Every Olympian was rendered gorgeously, on their own each a piece that would be out of place anywhere but the very centre of the main altar. Even from halfway across the Agora the satyr could easily tell each of the gods apart. These were not the flawless, perfect renditions that Eoren, or any Graek really, had known the gods from. Hephaestus was not merely a muscular bearded man, he also had twisted legs. Not, bent nor crooked, truly twisted. And was that a tangle in his beard? Eoren had seen a couple busts of Hephaestus and not a single one of them gave him anything less than a perfect beard. Aphrodite was stunningly beautiful of course, but her slight smile was marred by a corner of her mouth twisting sadistically.

    Even Dyonysus, Eorens patron god, was not spared. In his eyes above the merrily ruddy cheeks and delirious smile, flickered the threat of madness. All the gods depicted were flawed thusly. Even though he, along with every other person here, had survived their cruelty, some part of Eoren¡¯s brains itched at the sight of the gods depicted so¡­. evil. He quashed the itch and looked away from the frieze. Then he strode towards the Lyceum.

    In front of the grand structure''s solid wooden door was a line of twenty or thirty people. Some had the look of warriors, grizzled and carrying weapons. Others were armed only with canny looks in their eyes. Most however, looked far from what Eoren would think potential gods should look like. He even saw a child, no older than 10 standing proudly in the line.

    He took his spot at the end of the line, and sensing this would be a bit of a wait, took out his clay pipe again and packed in the last of his herbs. Eoren wasn''t really that nervous, unlike some in the line, but there wasn¡¯t much else to do. A few moments of dull boredom passed. As busy as the market was, people watching quickly lost its charm. As his eyes drifted towards the frieze again, a weight surprised him by lightly pressing against his stomach. He looked down and there was a solid, if a bit worn shield leaning against him. Without touching it, he looked at the man in front of him. He was armored and clearly not paying attention.

    ¡°Hey. This yours?¡±

    ¡°Hm? Oh shit sorry.¡± Replied the man, taking his shield back.

    He didn¡¯t look that old for a warrior and he was a little short. Next to the statuesque and bronze clad soldiers waiting in line, his dull iron armour and drooping shoulders didn¡¯t inspire quite the same. And he clearly was panicking a little.

    ¡°You alright?¡± Said the satyr, looking for a way to pass the time.

    ¡°F-fine.¡± Said the shaking man.

    The doors to the Lyceum flung open and a shouting man was thrown out by a pair of massive arms studded in eyes.

    ¡°You¡¯re the only one shaking here man.¡± Said Eoren after a pause to watch the man walk off in a huff.

    ¡°Really? Shit.¡± He tried to stop the shaking, but the light tapping of metal on metal remained. Eoren said nothing but offered his pipe to the man.

    ¡°Oh! I uh, thanks but I don¡¯t smoke.¡±

    ¡°Suit yourself, looks like you need something else to think about though.¡±

    ¡°Y-yeah you could say that.¡± Said the warrior, with a weak, dry laugh.

    ¡°Whatchu hoping to get in to be?¡±

    ¡°God of war.¡±

    ¡°Hm.¡±

    ¡°You?

    ¡°Wine, partying, anything cool like that, you know?¡±

    ¡°Ah satyr and all that, should have assumed so.¡±

    ¡°Thanks for not.¡±

    A woman in a beautiful chiton angrily opened the door and slammed it behind, fuming off into the crowd. A silence fell between the pair and the line moved up as more and more people left, some defeated, others trying to pretend they weren¡¯t.

    ¡°Maron must be in a bad mood today, so few are getting in.¡± Said the warrior, mostly to himself.

    ¡°How do you figure he¡¯s in a bad mood?¡±

    ¡°Oh, I uh, um, I¡¯ve gotten into line yesterday and the day before.¡±

    ¡°Oh they let you come back and try again?¡±

    ¡°Well, they let you get back in line as many times as you want, but I don¡¯t know if they let you talk to Maron more than twice. I¡­¡± He paused.

    ¡°Chickened out before you got to the doors?¡± Finished Eoren. The other man glumly nodded. A very square man stoically strode out the doors.

    ¡°Hey.¡±

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°If it''s just a little bit of courage you need, I can help you.¡±

    ¡°What do you mean?¡±

    ¡°Well I mean I¡¯m a satyr, nature spirit and master of the wilds. I happen to be carrying some herbs that can kindle a fire in your belly.¡±

    ¡°Really? You don¡¯t have to smoke them like whatever skunky stuff you¡¯re smoking now right?¡±

    ¡°Oh no, these you just chew.¡±

    Eoren watched the young man mull it over. They were less than five people from the door now, and Eoren could pick up snippets of conversation beyond the door. Some deep, powerful voice spoke whenever a new hopeful went inside.

    ¡°Oh-okay, I¡¯ll try them.¡±

    ¡°Trust me mate, you won¡¯t regret it.¡± Said Eoren as he dug around in his pack. He put a cluster of dried brown grass in the armoured man''s hand.

    ¡°T-thanks.¡±

    ¡°Not a problem.¡±

    The young man tilted his head back and started chewing on the grasses.

    ¡°And hey, I¡¯ll need some allies if I¡¯m going to get anywhere as a god.¡± Added Eoren, mostly as an afterthought.

    ¡°Is a god of wine supposed to really ¡°do¡± anything?¡± Questioned the other man, through a mouthful of stringy plants.

    ¡°Eh I¡¯m not sure, I¡¯ll see when I get there. Speaking of, I think you¡¯re up, man.¡±

    ¡°I¡¯m huh?¡± Said the warrior, turning to look at the doors looming above him. Indeed, there was no one else in front of him.

    ¡°Go on mate, the herbs should be kicking in real soon.¡±

    He gingerly put his hand on the door.

    ¡°Those herbs are used by the Spartans when they go into battle, man, you got nothing to worry about!¡± Urged the satyr.

    The armoured man took a deep breath and opened it.

    ¡°There ya go man! Hard parts over!¡±

    He slipped in.

    ¡°Good man.¡± Said the satyr, to the closed door. It was quiet for a moment, then that same muffled voice broke the silence. It hurt Eorens nosy little soul, but he couldn¡¯t make out more than single words. He looked around to kill the rest of the time before his test, however long this was going to take. Hm, only three hopefuls were behind him. If people knew to not line up this late in the day, were they going to stop taking hopefuls today?

    The silence stretched on. Eoren watched some of the market stalls pack up and others take their place. It was kinda hard to see exactly what kind of merchants left and what took their place, but it seemed to tend towards shadier types. Makes sense.

    Feeling a little nervous now, Eoren cast his mind to what he would do if he got in and what he would do if he didn¡¯t. It would do little for his mood if he slunk off to some hole and moped after not getting in. He didn¡¯t have much money but that mattered only so much. He smiled to himself at all the tawdry mischief he would raise. On the other hand, if he did get in he had no idea what would happen. Would he instantly become a god? Would wine flow from his fingertips and evil men go mad from gazing into his eyes?

    He had heard tales of people getting into the Lyceum and walking out in an hour, a full divine. He had also heard tales about any who failed the trial at the door would burst into flames, so he took this with a grain of salt. He dimly noted that the armored man was taking quite a long time. Eoren really hoped that those random tufts of grass he gave the man would help him keep his head. He seemed like a nice guy, if a little poorly suited to being a god of war. Regardless, he seemed like the sheltered type and that would make him a fun companion for a night on the town. Yes, either way, win or lose, Pythion would remember this night as the one Eoren and what''s-his-name came to town. Or at least Eoren. He figured the townsfolk wouldn¡¯t really remember when exactly the armored man came into town.

    The door creaked open and a helmeted head popped out.

    ¡°Uh-he told me to tell you that he¡¯s only going to see one more aspirant.¡± Murmured the sweaty and shaking man.

    And so the satyr tapped the ashes out of his pipe and went to his trial.

 Chapter 3- The Test

    Even later in the day, after most people had done their shopping, the Agora remained fairly loud. Not terribly so, just a dull roar at all times. When the heavy wood doors closed behind Eoren he was stuck by just how quickly and completely that sound disappeared. He was a creature of the woods, or at least he was descended from them. He could hear much better than humans and could see well on any moonless night. Yet once the doors closed he was plunged into a deep darkness and he couldn¡¯t hear a sound from the market. It was as if he had taken three steps and found himself in the underworld.

    Suddenly the flame of a torch guttered up. It was held in an iron bracket with three legs and its bright yellow flame illuminated part of an entirely different room than the one Eoren had stepped into. He had opened the door and walked into a simple white marble room with another similar wooden door on the other side. He now stood in a much larger and longer room. So long in fact, that he could not determine when and if it ended. Ahead of him, where the torch burned, was a creature sitting on a gray stone throne. Even sitting with his head resting on his palm he was at least two feet taller than Eoren. Yet this was not what made Eoren¡¯s hair stand on end and his legs to freeze solid. This giant was covered in eyes.

    Light brown eyes with flecks of gold. He had a single line of eyes running from the back of his hands all the way to his bare shoulders. Between dark hairs curling on his chest poked a circular collection of roughly fifty eyes. They sprang from the bottom of his feet all the way past his thighs, though Eoren could not determine how high up they went as the giant wore a skirt of red cloth tucked into his similarly coloured subligar. While this was disturbing to look at, his face unnerved Eoren the most. His nose and mouth appeared to be crushed under a flood of identical eyes. There was little in the way of humanity on his face, it was swept away by the sea of white, brown and black. Wild, dark brown hair wilted down to his shoulders.

    ¡°Well?¡± Rumbled the giant after a nauseating blink.

    ¡°Buh guh buh.¡± Answered Eoren elegantly.

    The giant fixed his gaze on the satyr. To Eoren it felt as if a whole crowd was staring at him.

    ¡°Ah, I¡¯m your first monster. Mh, simple first test.¡±

    Still stiff, the satyr watched as the giant reached down beside his seat and gripped something hidden by shadow. The giant half stood up and heaved. A club with bronze discs set in it flew across the room and sparked against the floor less than ten feet from Eoren. It was a massive thing, likely made of a whole tree trunk. And it was still moving, charging, towards Eoren across the floor. Its massive weight made it seem more like a boulder tumbling down a mountain than any weapon.

    JUMP! Screamed Eorens mind and he did.

    He landed poorly after hurdling the club, rolling his ankle slightly. Panicked, he nearly flung the bindle from his shoulder. Holding the staff in shaking hands he tore the bundle off its end. Getting to his feet he took a solid stance with his thyrsus. Standing squarely he looked past the tip of his staff and focused on the giant. To Eoren relief, the giant was still sitting, leaning forward but lacking much of an interested expression.

    ¡°Hah. No satyr jam on my bread tonight eh Theuras?¡± He said, casting his gaze to a corner behind and to the right of Eoren. Then he turned back to the satyr.

    Eoren spared a quick glance behind him and saw nothing but black and maybe the outline of the room in the gloom. It was too dark to tell exactly how big the room was.

    ¡°You got a name rabbit?¡±

    ¡°E-eoren.¡±

    ¡°Whaterya here for?

    ¡°I want to be the god of wine.¡± Eoren took a steadying breath and relaxed a bit. It seemed like the physical danger had passed.

    ¡°Oh? How original.¡±

    Shit. Should I have said something else? No, being honest is how this happens, I¡¯m not going to lie my way into godhood.

    ¡°Or the god of partying. Or anything cool like that.¡± He said, trying to put on a brave smile.

    ¡°Or anything cool like that? Pah! You just want to be the new Dionysus.¡±

    I could certainly think of worse things to want.

    The giant stood.

    ¡°What else is ¡°cool¡± to you? You clearly don¡¯t mind settling given how many dominions you could stomach. Do you think honey is cool too? What of water? Or bricks? Or sod or gold or dirt or shit?¡± Questioned the many-eyed man. ¡°Do you have any real ambition besides being drunk for the rest of your days? Diya think godhood is a joke?¡±

    The giant took two steps and Eoren took half of one back.

    ¡°No. Of course not. I don¡¯t know a lot about most of those things. What I do know is a lot of stuff about drink and merriment.¡± Said Eoren trying to sound more confident than he felt. The satyr was only barely managing to stop his shaking. This monster, for it could be nothing else, terrified him.

    ¡°Oh spare me, every satyr who comes in here says that.¡± The giant shook his hand at the satyr dismissively. ¡°And without fail every single one of them can¡¯t manage to remember a thing about them aside from what grapes taste good and that parties should not be held on an empty field. They¡¯re all just slackers who want something to leach from eternally.¡±

    Eorens nose twitched. He stood straight and held his staff in one hand.

    ¡°I am not a slacker.¡±

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    ¡°Oh you hear that Theuras? He¡¯s not like the rest!¡±

    The giant crouched down to a little over eye level after again saying something to the corner.

    ¡°How diya figure that?¡± Slurred the giant.

    The satyr gathered himself and spoke.

    ¡°I am not some layabout. I truly want to make the world better. What other place of learning is equal to here? What other place could give me the training and gifts the Lyceum can? I-.¡±

    ¡°They are not gifts, whelp. If by some miracle you get in, every scrap of your divinity will be bought with sweat and blood. I¡¯ve seen droves of hopefuls that ¡°wanted to make the world a better place¡± and chasing that fuzzy, sappy feeling got half of them killed.¡±

    The giant stood at his full height and moved up beside Eoren. The satyr leaned back slightly as the massive being approached. Instead of running as the animal part of his brain demanded, he straightened and looked into the mass of eyes that made up the creature''s face.

    ¡°The other half didn¡¯t even make it far enough to get to real danger. You need more than just a want to get anywhere, inside these walls or out.¡±

    ¡°I-. I-. Uh.¡±

    That many?!?

    ¡°What whelp? Looking for some bullshit to spout? Some story to trick your way into somewhere you think will solve all your issues? Maybe gods don¡¯t have to pay their bar tabs eh? Wouldn¡¯t that be something?¡±

    The giant stared a thousand daggers into the satyr. Eoren tried to formulate something, anything to say and came up empty.

    ¡°Pah! Failed the second test. Theuras? Are we ready to send this one home?¡± Said the giant turning away from Eoren and walking back to his throne.

    For a moment Eoren just stood there. In the half light of the torch he felt icy despair creep into his stomach. He gazed at the ground with hollow eyes.

    ¡°I can¡¯t uh, I can¡¯t-.¡±

    ¡°What? Speak up lad!¡± Roared the now sitting giant.

    Eoren swallowed.

    ¡°I can¡¯t go home.¡± He said quietly.

    ¡°Oh. An exile, how you tug on my heartstrings.¡±

    ¡°No I-.¡± The satyr breathed in and when he lifted his eyes from the ground the giant saw a kindled fire in them. His back straightened and his voice cleared.

    ¡°I WILL not go home.¡± Continued Eoren.

    ¡°What¡¯s stopping you?

    ¡°I will not go home a failure. I know I have something to offer here, I just don¡¯t know exactly what form it will take.¡± The satyr took a half step forward. ¡°You are mistaken, unlike all the other satyrs you¡¯ve seen, I know I took time to understand rather than just experience. I know all there is to know about wine, all the best ways a party can begin and end. In my youth I found it foolhardy to dedicate my long life to one thing, so I ravenously studied all the epics of revelry.¡±

    He took a long step forward.

    ¡±I studied under my town''s philosopher until he had no more to teach me, then I lived in Athens and took in as much knowledge there as I could. I learned there for almost a third of my life, and only left to put practice to my knowledge. I am hedonistic as all satyrs are, but it is the root of my drive, the hound I have lashed to my sled. It is not enough for me to revel like a satyr, I must revel as only the wise can. For certainly there are many who like to gather and drink, but so few have studied what makes a good party.¡±

    He took two great steps forward. His chin tilted up confidently.

    ¡°I have. I have watched from many a shadow on many a night of revelry and taken stock of all that went on. There are few others who know as much as I about the near six hundred types of grapes that humanity crushes into wine. There are fewer still who know as much as I about the two hundred and thirteen foul spirits that twist men''s minds. It is only now, with the death of my god, do I have a heavenly calling rather than an earthly one. I know so much about so many things, surely there must be a spot for me in the new pantheon? I can be so many things, I am sure to be able to become but one of them.¡±

    The satyr stopped his advance towards the giant. He stood plainly before the giant, his story done. The monster said nothing and his face betrayed little. Only a slight smile could be detected, which grew slowly. Indeed it was so small at first that Eoren thought his mind was playing tricks on him.

    ¡°So, let me straighten this out. You spent- how many years?¡±

    ¡°Roughly twenty¡±

    ¡°Two decades learning how to party the best?¡±

    ¡°That is correct.¡±

    The giant scratched an errant eyelash on his chin.

    ¡°And what would you do if I said that it don¡¯t matter how many facts you can spout about something?¡±

    ¡°Explain.¡± Said Eoren flatly, not betraying the twist of fear in his guts with his tone.

    ¡°A god needs to embody a dominion, and knowledge of the dominion is a part of it, but so is personal investment. For a mortal to ascend, they need to live and breathe that thing. I don¡¯t see you embodying any dominion, I see you dipping your toes in something like five, you really only lean strongly towards one.¡±

    Eoren sank, leaning on his staff to keep himself uptight.

    ¡°Well? What would you say?¡±

    ¡°Uh, well I would have a question.¡± Said the satyr, trying to keep the rising dread of failure from clouding his mind.

    ¡°And?¡±

    ¡°Well, can I come back and try again? I obviously have to find something and stick to it, but I can do that.¡±

    The giant''s face split with a larger smile. With some disgust Eoren noted it was quite a bit proportionally wider than a humans and he lacked molars, possessing a patchwork of snaggly and sharp teeth in their place.

    ¡°Hah! There it is. Well, Theuras, I think that''s my test over, your turn.¡±

    With that a great snapping noise rang in Eoren''s ears and he was blinded by a scorching white light. When the spots ran from his sight he found himself in that very same bare marble room. Or not? There wasn¡¯t a rug to wipe one''s feet on the door behind him. Eoren concluded that he must be in another, very similar room. The giant sat on a simple stump in one corner, nearly filling half the room himself.

    ¡°Did I pass?¡±

    The giant let out another snorting laugh.

    ¡°My test, the hard one.¡±

    ¡°Oh, good.¡± Eoren said, slightly dazed.

    ¡°Quick question though. You said I favoured a particular dominion?¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°What is it? I thought I spread myself out pretty well.¡±

    The giant, who seemed only very slightly intimidating with a smile on his face, what with how broad it was, clapped the satyr on the back.

    ¡°No fun spilling the beans like that. But I will tell you that it ain¡¯t a dominion close to partying. Now hurry up, I bet Theuras wants to go home soon, I sure do. Sorry fer chucking my club at you.¡± The giant punctuated this by spinning the satyr around to face the other side of the room. An empty side of the room.

    ¡°Theuras? That was the person you were talking to behind me?¡± Asked the satyr turning back to the giant.

    ¡°Heh, for a given definition of ¡°person,¡± sure.¡± Responded the giant, pointing up at the ceiling opposite of him. Eoren followed his finger and looked into the eyes of the second monster of today.

 Chapter 4- Armour rustin off

    Pittacos could hardly believe what had just happened to him. Here he was, sitting in shock on a stone bench in the Agora, accepted into a school for nascent deities. Then there was the fact he TALKED to two monsters, both of which were FRIENDLY. Well, they were more friendly after Maron Panotptes charged him to ¡°test his mettle.¡± Pitt chalked it up to the endless drills rather than any sort of real courage that he fell into a defensive stance behind his shield. After Maron had clearly tried to work him up and Theuras simply asked him all sorts of questions about battle and its conduct, they told him he was accepted into the Lyceum. Apparently the whole reason he wasn¡¯t inside its walls right now was because the shade they have for introductions was banished. Whatever that meant. Temporarily he was assured.

    As the sun hung low in the sky and night crept into town, Pittacos figured he would show up to the Lyceum tomorrow long before the sun rose. It was unlikely he would get any sleep. He was far, far too wired.

    Though I guess I haven¡¯t slept much since I got here. Funny, I figured not having to worry about something dead crawling in through my windows would help with the insomnia.

    The young man was shaken out of his thoughts by his shield crashing to the ground. It was a truly tremendous sound relative to the hum of the Agora. All at once the market stalls seemed to fall silent. He could feel a whole market of eyes on him as he fumbled with the awkward piece of iron. He was deeply embarrassed and dropping the shield all over again embarrassed him once more. By the time he hefted the disc and strapped it to his leg, he could feel his helmet warming from his red face.

    Oh Zeus, please just kill me.

    Zeus in fact did not kill him. But perhaps Androdamos was listening as a reprieve came through the Lyceum doors. A slightly befuddled satyr stepped through the portal. He closed the doors behind himself slowly and ran his hand from the bridge of his nose all the way over his head. Pitt stood and tried to walk over to him, forgetting that his shield was attached firmly to his limb. The resulting clamour drew the attention of the satyr, who walked over.

    ¡°Hey man.¡± Said Eoren calmly.

    ¡°Ah, hey. One sec.¡± Replied Pitt, electing to simply take off his entire greave rather than disentangling it from the knot of leather he had somehow created.

    ¡°So, did you get in?¡± Pittacos said after standing back up.

    ¡°Yeah, you?¡±

    ¡°Yep, kinda surprised I did actually.¡±

    ¡°Were you waiting for me or¡­?¡±

    ¡°Well yeah, I wanted to thank you. I waited in line like five times and then you came around and now I¡¯m an official aspirant now. So uh, thank you.¡±

    ¡°Ack, no problem besides-.¡± Eoren said, before realizing that maybe telling the potential god of war that he essentially tricked him into applying could be a poor idea.¡±

    ¡°-it¡¯s better to make friends early in these sorts of things eh?¡± He finished, a little lamely in his opinion. Though, if Pitt thought so he did an excellent job hiding it under a nod of understanding.

    Eoren sat down beside the warrior and a silence fell between them. The satyr watched the sun go down while Pittacos worked on disentangling his shield. A cool breeze blew down from Mount Olympus. After the chaos of his trial, the hum and buzz of the market was a soothing normality. The satyr leaned back onto the bench and stared up at the darkening sky. The stars were just coming out.

    ¡°Was that your first couple of monsters as well?¡± Said Eoren.

    ¡°Hm? No.¡± Replied Pitt.

    ¡°Figures, a big, bold god of war such as yourself would have seen some before.¡±

    The pair slipped into silence once more. Pittacos finally separated the wayward piece of armour and his shield. After he affixed the greave to his leg and set the shield down flat on the masonry, he leaned back and took a deep breath.

    ¡°Wait, those two were the first monsters you¡¯ve seen? I thought satyrs could step into a trees hollow and step out on the other side of Graece? Wouldn¡¯t you have seen at least one?¡± Questioned Pittacos.

    ¡°Gods I wish. Nah, that''s just really powerful dryads. I¡¯ve lived in Athens for quite a bit of my life and a satyr grove. Most monsters don¡¯t tend to come around the biggest cities and we had our own ways of deterring them.¡±

    Pitt traced the constellation Ursa with his eyes.

    A silence bloomed between them. The market sounds wound down. The distant sound of cicadas, that omnipresent countryside melody, filtered through the alleyways.

    ¡°Welp, I¡¯m going home.¡± He said, after noting how low the sun was getting. He picked up and brushed off his shield, slinging it over his shoulder afterwards. He started moving towards one of the myriad side streets that branched off of the Agora. But he paused.

    ¡°Hey!¡± He called back at the satyr, who sat up to look at him better.

    ¡°You had a travelling pack when you got into line, do you have a place to stay?¡±

    The satyr blinked and thought for a moment.

    Arbus or whoever probably won¡¯t accept a couple hours payment for the measly amount of apples I could juice before bed. And I don¡¯t know if the brothels will let you stay the night here.

    ¡°No.¡± He called back.

    ¡°Well, I have way more space than I need where I stay, you¡¯re welcome to sleep there.¡±

    The satyr smiled and walked over to the warrior. The pair made their way out of the Agora. The construction had stopped a little earlier, which made the dark streets quiet enough for their footsteps to echo slightly. While the houses being constructed were not the finest Eoren had seen, they looked sturdy and mostly uniform. They passed a mother scolding her three children for getting home so late, an Astynomoi with a wax tablet in hand and a pair of drunk men leaning on each other on some grand journey. Eoren noted gleefully that the official didn¡¯t even spare the drunk men a second glance, so they were unlikely to give him much trouble if he drank too much. Which was no mean feat, being a satyr and all.

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    The gentle light of the small fires people used to light their homes filtered out into the street. This meant that by the time they got to Pitt¡¯s house, when the moon was starting to peek over the roofs, the streets were not dark enough to be foreboding. A pleasant walk to an apparently quite decent second story house.

    ¡°Grow up here?¡±

    ¡°Nah, Mesopotamos.¡±

    Eoren thought for a moment.

    ¡°That''s pretty far away, how did you wind up with a nice place like this?¡±

    ¡°My dad bought it for me.¡±

    They walked up the steps and Pitt pulled out a large wooden key.

    ¡°Ooo, rich kid.¡± Said the satyr mockingly. Pittacos half laughed and then looked intensely  at Eoren.

    ¡°Please don¡¯t call me that, I got barely enough allowance to feed myself, I gotta work just to keep my armour from rusting off.¡±

    The satyr put up his hands in surrender and said ¡°Okay man. No problem.¡±

    The pair walked into the main room of the building, which looked like a kitchen and living room. It was a structure made of good quality, light brown clay brick, with nice, straight wooden beams supporting its roof. On their right was a good sized oven with a hearty stack of wood beside it. Drying herbs hung from a wooden dowel suspended from the ceiling and a collection of pots and amphora held Pitt¡¯s presumably meagre rations. Straight ahead was another door, which led to a bedroom. To their left was the living room. A single kline sat opposite of two simple low backed chairs, between which was a chest. Judging from the dirty plates and a half full pitcher of water resting on it, the chest served as a sort of coffee table.

    ¡°Nice place.¡± Commented Eoren.

    ¡°Thank, sorry for the mess, I do try to keep it cleaner usually.¡± Said Pitt, gesturing to the dirty dishes, which Eoren noted were the only things in this room not spick and span. As Pitt went to clean up, Eoren took a closer look through the kitchen. Good amount of utensils, a very well taken care of frying pan and pot. Mostly local herbs, but a fair amount looked to Eoren¡¯s eyes as distinctly foreign to this area. Indeed, though he was far from the master of nature as he often bragged, he recognized some of those non local herbs. The smell of these herbs was nostalgic and familiar to Eoren. It reminded  him of his mothers and aunt''s kitchens.

    ¡°Hey, is this rock leaf? And is this coriander?¡± He asked Pitt, who had walked past the satyr and was washing the dishes.

    ¡°Hm? Yep. Brought it from home. My mom made me pack a big bundle of herbs. I got lots more than just the stuff on the rack here. It was a bit of a pain really.¡±

    ¡°Oh, so your mom made you bring a whole bunch of herbs so you could impress all the pretty boys and girls that you bring back?¡±

    Pittacos went a little red at this.

    ¡°No, dick, it''s because I use them. You know, to make food taste good?¡± Pitt retorted.

    ¡°Prove it.¡±

    Pitt set the dish he was washing on the counter beside him and turned to face Eoren. After fixing the satyr with a stare, he nodded firmly and then went to work. He fished a pair of live lobsters out of an amphora. He then set them down on a cutting board on the counter. From a rack behind him he plucked a bronze knife. He fixed a serious look on the knife, inspecting his edge. He tested the edge with the thumb on the hand which held it and scratched his faceplate the way one would scratch their beard. Satisfied, he gave it a theatrical twirl and came back to the counter.

    ¡°How long you been traveling?¡± He asked Eoren, gripping one of the lobsters firmly.

    ¡°Bout six months.¡±

    ¡°Well, Eoren, this is going to be the -best- meal you¡¯ve had in twelve.¡±

    He punctuated this by swiftly killing the lobster. Afterwards he was a flurry of motion, finishing the other one and setting two pots of water to boil. In a pan he put butter and herbs, being far from stingy with each. In one pot went the lobsters to cook and in the other went some rice. A great deal of focus showed on his face, even under the helmet he was still inexplicably wearing. In fact he was still wearing his full suit of iron.

    Suddenly Pittacos was far from the clumsy, shield dropping impression Eoren had gotten. He moved with grace and purpose. He danced from one end of the kitchen to the other putting spices here and stirring there. The lobster reddened merrily and the wonderful smell of sizzling fat and spice filled the home. Pittacos¡¯s hands moved like a blur and he seldom stayed in one place for more than a moment.

    ¡°Are you going to take your armour off? I mean, I know the horns make me look scary, but I¡¯m really quite a sweetheart.¡± It hurt Eoren a little to do anything that might break the warrior out of his trance but he was devilishly curious.

    ¡°No. Old habit.¡±

    He didn¡¯t pause at all or elaborate further. A swift motion here and a quick step there and in no time the meal was complete. It comprised a hefty ladleful of richly flavoured rice supporting a bright red lobster which shimmered with butter. It made Eoren acutely aware of how he had eaten exactly one apple today. As Pittacos brought it over to the living room to eat, Eoren chirped up;

    ¡°Well, I concede it looks good, but any fool can make something look good. Taste is the real contest here.¡±

    The pair sat down across from each other. Pitt took a bite of his rice and nodded thoughtfully as he chewed it. Then he looked through narrowed eyes at Eoren, who was eyeing a piece of lobster meat skewered on his table knife.

    ¡°Go on, prove I don¡¯t know how to use all my fancy herbs.¡±

    Eoren popped the piece of meat into his mouth.

    ¡°Buddy, the minute you''re ready to get married, I¡¯m going to be first in line.¡± He said, his voice theatrically flat. Pitt scoffed.

    ¡°Glad to see my cooking has impressed the random satyr.¡± He took a bite of his food. ¡°Or should I say my husband, as he¡¯s my first and only suitor.¡±

    The pair laughed lightly at this.

    ¡°Imagine explaining that to a priest!¡± Eoren sat up straight, imitating the stiff armoured posture of Pitt. ¡°Yes I¡¯d like to be married to this satyr. Why, you ask? Oh, well, he up and proposed to me after a bite of my lobster! No, of course that isn¡¯t an entendre.¡±

    The pair laughed heartily at this.

    ¡°Fuck the priest! Imagine my parents!¡± Said Pitt between gasps for air.

    This made Eoren lean far back into his chair with laughter.

    ¡°Greetings Patriarch and Matriarch Micythoi,¡± Pitt imitated horns with his fingers on his forehead. ¡°I¡¯ve come to marry your son. How long have we known each other? Oh about a day I suppose.¡± His hands dropped back to his plate. ¡°You just might have enough time to escape while my father throttles me and my mother is stunned by the horror that her son didn¡¯t marry one of the six girls in the village.¡±

    The pair almost fell out of their chairs from their fits of laughter. The rest of the evening passed in much the same way. A spark of friendship kindled that night, in that little house filled with easy camaraderie. On Eorens part, Pitt was just stiff enough to be interesting. On Pitt''s part, Eoren had such a radically different life than him. This and their senses of humor lined up creepily well. Many a joke was shared, much rice was ate and when they finally felt their eventful day catch up to them, they retired to sofa and bedroom respectively. Even once the lights were all out and both of them were settled, the conversation didn¡¯t die. It did eventually, but rather than die it would be more accurate to say it just tapered out.

    As the satyr and warrior were just about asleep, Eoren piped up.

    ¡°Hey, didn¡¯t you say that you only got into line twice the first time we met?¡± Said Eoren.

    ¡°No, no, you''re just remembering it wrong.¡±

    A silence.

    ¡°Hey man, I just realized something.¡±

    ¡°Yeah?¡±

    ¡°I never asked your name.¡±

    Eoren chuckled into his pillow. ¡°I guess you didn¡¯t. My name''s Eoren, you?¡±

    ¡°Pittacos. Pittacos Micythus if you want to kiss up.¡±

    ¡°Will I get more lobster if I do?¡±

    The pair laughed airily, then closed their eyes. While Eoren was happy to have found someone fun, Pitt was happy for another reason all together. He was happy to have made his first friend.

 Chapter 5- Clymere Swags Out

    Chapter 5

    Clymere huffed in distaste at the sight of Pythion.

    It looks like half built mud huts and tents.

    From her covered palanquin she eyed up the city and its surroundings. Her home scarcely had any buildings that weren¡¯t good stone and fine timber. Comparatively, Pythion was indeed a poor facsimile. Its spiderwebby streets (which she could discern even from a distance) were completely indecipherable to one who had grown up in straight alleys and square buildings. And there wasn¡¯t much of a curtain wall, it was really more of a curtain berm.

    The witch was held aloft by two men in extremely conservative dress, with their himations draping all the way from the crown of their heads to below their knees. They moved in an even, practiced stride. The movement of the bearers were so smooth in fact that occasionally Clymere would daydream and, believing she was simply in a chair, would half get up to get a scroll from her family''s library.

    Perhaps that''s why I¡¯m in a foul mood, the library was such a grand asset to my studies. What a waste of time, I could have figured out a solution to the dispersion issue already if I wasn¡¯t sitting in this box. At least the nagging will stop once I get this fool''s errand over.

    Closer and closer to the city her silent bearers carried her to the city at the foot of Mount Olympus. The wheat danced merrily in the fields and farmers plied their trade amongst them. To her right the sea crashed against the rocks, distant and quiet. If she hadn¡¯t done so a hundred times already, Clymere might have considered closing her eyes and letting her mind trick itself into thinking she was at her island home. One couldn¡¯t escape such noise on an island. The ocean had been with Clymere since she was a baby. It felt wrong to be away from it. Or at least as far as she had ever been from it.

    Add that to my foul mood list.

    As Mount Olympus came into view Clymere figured she should probably prepare soon. It wouldn¡¯t do to give this a half try, and to look anything short of perfect would be a sin. Clymere closed her eyes briefly and reached out in her mind. All manner of spellery lurked in her mind but today she needed to use little but the most basic. She issued magical commands to a collection of trinkets on her person, hidden or otherwise. Priming, waking up and charging are all excellent verbs which all fail to fully communicate what her arcane workings did to the baubles of wood, bronze and witchcraft.

    Only two of these things made any outward sign that they were enchanted somehow. The first was a clicking and whirring watch the size of Clymere¡¯s palm sprung to life. It was far from any normal timepiece. It had far more than two hands and an outside observer could hardly guess at what the witch gleaned from studying its face.

    Hm lets see. High cleverness, high shame, medium panic. Must be market time. Is this a regular level for this village, or is this a particularly busy time? I¡¯ll have to wait and see. High disappointment, coupled with the high shame and isolated extreme pride, could be the entrants into the Lyceum. If there are entrant¡¯s today, perhaps that Maron that Elphir mentions was in a good mood? Oh and what''s this? High interest and calm in an area which is unlikely to be the Lyceum. The levels are very close to what I got around the library back home. I do hope there''s one here. It would be a rather boring city otherwise.

    Clymere shook her head.

    Wait, why am I thinking of such things. I don¡¯t plan on staying long and I mustn''t get my hopes up. This is a futile task, a waste of my precious time. I¡¯m a proud witch! Why must I scramble like a thousand other fools?

    The other ensorceled creation clicked and clattered underneath her chair. It sounded like a bag of sticks being jostled, but deeper somehow. Like a ship hull grinding against a dock, it had an odd sort of resonance.

    ¡°Radvi my little man! Is that you?¡± The witch cooed.

    A small ¡°head¡± poked out from underneath the chair. A lumpy bundle of wicker with two ¡°eyes'' '' made of walnut shells stared up at Clymere from between her legs, silent aside from its creaking.

    ¡°Yes it is!¡± Cooed the witch once more, hauling Radvi up and placing the diminutive creature on her lap. It was a roughly child sized mass of wicker. Three long arms sprouted from its centre of mass, two where a normal human¡¯s would be and a slightly smaller one just below his right arm. His legs were rather short and stubby. If one looked close enough to the stalks close to its core, they would see numerous runes carved on and deep into their surface.

    ¡°We¡¯re going to be at a place with a lot of people okay? Just like I said. You remember how to act in front of strangers right? The witch asked Radvi.

    In response the creature nodded, which sounded a bit like a dry tree being shaken in the wind, and wrapped its three arms around Clymere. After a moment of fussing with his peeling bark, she looked up at the town, which was less than a minute away. She could see a guard squaring up to meet her at the empty portal which was passing for a gate. He didn¡¯t look very friendly. She flicked a glance at his arm, which was bandaged, though it was too far for her to make out much detail. She turned down to look at Radvi and pulled out a small copper mirror.

    ¡°Watch closely Radvi,¡± Said the witch as she applied a long wing of eyeliner and dabbed some blush on her cheeks. ¡°I think this guard is going to give us trouble.¡±

    True to her prediction, the guard waved the palanquin down a bit more aggressively than necessary and took a few steps forward away from the gate. The bearers made no outward sign of stopping until Clymere made a small chopping motion with her hand, then they halted so fast they slightly skied on the sandy road.

    ¡°State your name and business.¡±

    Clymere elegantly opened a door flap of braided cedar bark on the side the guard was on and she fixed him with a calm look.

    ¡°I am Clymere of Samos, Hecatoi, wise woman and aspirant. My business is thus in the Lyceum.¡±

    ¡°Never heard of Samos. Sounds far off.¡±

    Never heard of Samos?! It¡¯s a major trade hub! What could possibly-. Oh I got the stupid guard. Lovely. He probably got that cut peeling an apple or something.

    Clymere forced a small, refined smile.

    ¡°It¡¯s quite lovely and indeed far away. I would very much like to rest after my long journey.¡±

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    As soon as she said it she knew she would be delayed here. The guard rolled his eyes slightly, like you would when you were required to do something that you would really rather not to. Clymere had seen it on many a servants face.

    ¡°All foreigners will need to submit to a search before they are allowed past the gates.¡±

    ¡°A search?¡±

    ¡°Yes, I¡¯ll need you to step out of the palanquin.¡±

    A flare of irritation twisted in the witch''s guts.

    ¡°I am a sorcerer! A follower of Hecate. I am permitted to go where I please uninhibited.¡±

    ¡°That was the rule before the Famine, rules change. Now get out¡±

    ¡°I will not, I am not some vagabond that requires vetting.¡±

    Clymere watched a vein bulge on the man''s forehead.

    ¡°Look, bitch, you can get out of the box or I can take you out, your-¡±

    The man''s sentence was cut short by his lips locking together. He started in alarm, and brushed his lips with his finger tips.

    ¡°Ah, so not only a scholar, but refined on par with kings!¡± Said Clymere mockingly. She had closed her fist and a mote of green light shined through her hand. The guard took two steps back as he started to claw at his mouth, his eyes widening in alarm. She looked him dead in the eye.

    ¡°Can I pass or do I need to cook you in your rags? She continued, glaring at the man intensely.

    Before either could answer the sound of an armoured man moving quickly drew their attention. The saw another guard, higher ranking if his armour was any indication moving swiftly to the other guard. He had no weapon draw, though he had a sword at his hip. Clymere¡¯s other hand closed around a lump of coal etched in runes in a pouch at her side, readied in case he did draw.

    ¡°Baccus, you fool!¡± He exclaimed, putting himself between the witch and his presumed underling.

    ¡°Are you a witch, Miss? He asked, putting up his hands to show he meant no harm.

    Clymere said nothing but glanced at her glowing fist.

    ¡°Right.¡± Said the guard. ¡°Can you release my cousin please Anassa?* He is a fool and is new to being a guardsman. We, like all civilized city states, respect most of the Old Laws. I simply haven¡¯t had time to fill this dolt in on all of them.¡±

    The guard had taken a half step towards Clymere and had almost pleaded his case rather than stated it. The witch noted his fingers were shaking slightly.

    He must care for the man very much. This is far from the behavior of an experienced guard. Excellent, another feather in the hat of this pig called Pythion.

    The witch sighed and forced some of the anger off of her face. She unclenched her fist, but did not fully open her hand. Correspondingly, ¡°Baccus¡± began to slip murmurs and grunts through his lips.

    ¡°My intention is not to harass guards, I merely seek access to the Lyceum. Are there any REAL issues with my entering of Pythion?¡±

    The guard was either poor at concealing emotion or didn¡¯t feel the need to hide the relief in his face. He made a quick glance at the guard behind him and when he turned back and met Clymere¡¯s eyes he looked far more in control than he had.

    ¡°No Anassa, once you release my associate, you may go on with your business.¡± The guard stated while nodding respectfully.

    That¡¯s it. You¡¯re not, but a scared guard is an unpredictable guard.

    With that she fully relaxed and let the green glow fade. The offending guard sputtered more and gingerly felt around his lips for any damage. Before he could say anything the other guard moved closer to him and began presumably dressing him down.

    What does he take me for? Some hex slinging hedge witch? If there is even a hair sized cut in his mouth I would be deeply surprised. Ah, right I got the stupid one.

    Clymere spared a glance down at Radvi. The little one was engrossed with the mens faces, his little walnut eyes darting from one to the other. He was calm, which was far from unusual of late. Clymere had done what the other sorcerers had recommended and gradually set him further and further away from home, letting him make his own way back. This exercise, when it had completed and Radvi was awakened on the very opposite side of Samos, had replaced the little bark man''s fear with a deep curiosity. The witch was actually a little afraid of him using his long limbs to pull himself out of the palanquin to go examine the men closer. This fear was proven well founded as he twisted in her arms and set one of his claw-like hands on the window frame.

    ¡°Hey! Radvi no.¡± The witch gently scooped up his hand and placed it back on his core. ¡°I know you¡¯re restless but you can¡¯t go exploring yet.¡±

    ¡°Oh hades! Baccus, you¡¯ve not just held up a Hecatoi Witch, you¡¯ve held up a mother!¡± The other guard exclaimed.

    What? Oh gods he means Radvi. He thinks I¡¯m talking to my child. I guess it is pretty dark in here, and the mind does make rather large logical leaps when seeing unfamiliar things. Hm, I¡¯m glad Radvi didn¡¯t get his third arm through.

    The witch made an easy chopping motion with her hands and the men, who had been entirely silent this whole time lifted up the palanquin.

    I suppose he¡¯s right, in a way. Just not in the technical way. Or most other ways. Or really at all, now that I think about it.

    ¡°Guardsman, may I take my leave now? My, uh, son and I are delayed enough as is.¡±

    ¡°Of course Anassa. Good luck and fair speed to you.¡±

    By the time he had finished his first sentence the bearers were moving, that easy, even stride. Absolutely and utterly unaffected by the interrogation of less than a minute ago. Through the empty iron gate they went, sandaled feet slapping on flagstones.

    ¡°Now Radvi, that man made an unreasonable demand and I responded in kind, but violence or a show of force should not be your first recourse, alright? There are far better ways to get what you want.¡± Said the Witch to her wicker creation. For his part Radvi just stared vacuously at her.

    Through the wide central street the tireless men strode. It was to Clymere¡¯s slight relief that most people didn¡¯t spare them a second glance. More trouble and delays would be most annoying for such an important task.

    Most people moved out of the way of such a procession but one woman was looking the wrong way and was bowled over, dropping a large clay pot, which shattered on the ground. In less than a blink dozen slightly reddish clay shards shot over the cobblestones, as if they were fleeing what they were once containing. The poor woman was covered in the contents of her late amphora, small fish in olive oil. A slight hand wave and the palanquin halted. Clymere opened a flap and peered out. The woman was sodden with oil and smelled terribly fishy. The witch made a splayed out motion with her hands and the men instantly let go of the cedar box and went about collecting the pot and its contents.

    ¡°Urgh, you needn¡¯t try to help, the damage is already done.¡± Said the woman miserably.

    The men did not acknowledge her. Once they had piled all the clay and fish in one spot, one went back to the palanquin and the other helped the woman up.

    ¡°Uh, it was my fault Anax. I wasn''t looking.¡± She continued.

    Cylmere wasn¡¯t listening to her however.

    Now let¡¯s see. That wind is picking up a bit, that man on the crane seems to be lifting that load with ease and that brazier is warming exactly no one. No one would miss a little wind, he could deal with some more weight and who would care if that fire went out? Here we go.

    The witch closed her eyes and whispered arcane syllables and a grand cacophony went up. The wind suddenly stopped on this pathway. The crane operator almost dropped his burden and strained against it. The brazier flared up and went out in an instant. And all the oil and fish lifted off into the air. The oil bubbled as if it was in a hot pan and all the filth of the street left it. A moment later the amphora knit itself together. The cleaned mixture flew into the now solid vessel. The woman blinked in surprise and looked at the cedar box. Clymere smiled at her and flicked two fingers upward in her direction. The oil that had slicked the woman ran off as if she had suddenly become water. The olive oil matting her hair swirled and swished, leaving her hair lustrous. In but twenty beats of a heart it looked as if nothing at all had happened, save that the woman glinted a little.

    ¡°Do try to pay a little more attention dear.¡± Said Clymere as the pair of men began to bear her down the street. For her part, the woman could do little but blush and sputter.

    The palanquin made its way to the Agora without any other incident. As the Lyceum came into view the witch made her final preparation. A dab of magic here and there as well as a dab of charcoal in her eyebrows. By the time she got to the front of the line, she was more than ready.

    I¡¯ve warmed up my people skills, and my magic, let¡¯s see them try and stop me.

    And so she went inside those heavy oak doors.

 Chapter 6 - Into the Lyceum

    Chapter 6

    A satyr and iron clad warrior stood in front of the Lyceum. Pitt looked as he always did, grey and serious, while Eoren had decided to throw on a very loose chitoniskos. It was one of Pitt¡¯s spares and judging by how he itched at where the fabric clung to him, Pittacos would soon have sole custody of the shirt.

    ¡°D¡¯we just go in the same way? Like, is there a side entrance for people who actually got in or do we just use the same door?¡± Said Eoren.

    ¡°Man, I don¡¯t know.¡± Replied Pitt, not looking away from the mural atop the building.

    The pair continued to stand and stare. They likely would have kept at it till the sun hung low, but someone came out of the door. Not just any someone, a god, for she could be nothing else. The tall and fair skinned woman strode out from behind the oak doors, parting the slabs of oak with nothing but the lightest touch of her fingertips. She was so beautiful it was almost haunting. Her lustrous apricot hair seemed to be equal parts fire red and brazen gold. She had waves of intense heat rolling off of her, so powerful that one could be forgiven for thinking the sun''s glow came solely from her. She seemed lost in thought at first but after seeing the odd pair ahead of her she fixed a look on them. Eoren had frolicked with nymphs and mountain gods (admittedly a weaker sort) and he had never felt a gaze like this. He felt like an insect pinned to a cork board. Pitt, who had never seen anything more divine than a satyr, was similarly frozen.

    ¡°Are you two novitiates? You have that oh-so-distinct look.¡± She said with a voice that made Pitt and Eoren¡¯s bones hum like a tuning fork.

    It took a moment before the pair realised it was a question and it took another moment of gaping at each other like fish before Eoren said ¡°Yes, Anassa.¡±

    She softly smiled and spoke again. ¡°And you two are worried about your first day.¡±

    Still smiling that radiant smile she turned and looked at the Lyceum, her gaze working over every scroll and divot on its pillars.

    ¡°I can recall being in your sandals. Elated and yet Maron''s words of warning still echoing in your skull. It¡¯s quite a terrible feeling isn¡¯t it?¡±

    This admission of prior weakness struck satyr and warrior deeply. It was like a statue of marble admitting it feared piercing thorns, like an ocean admitting it feared a candle.

    ¡°Well, best of luck to you.¡± She said, turning away and walking into the busy Agora. ¡°And you CAN just walk in now. You¡¯re novitiates, this is where you belong.¡±

    The goddess went on her way, people bowing and staring as she walked past. Pitt and Eoren were among the staring crowd. Some time passed as they simply watched her go.

    ¡°Gods of Olympus, are we going to end up like her? All¡­ shiny?¡± Said Pitt, shattering the silence.

    ¡°Yeah¡­ I think.¡± Said Eoren coming back to reality, while Pitt continued staring. He snapped his thyrsus on the cobblestones and took a step towards the oak doors before stopping and turning back to a still Pittacos.

    ¡°Though I suspect you¡¯ll be the pretty one and I¡¯ll get all the cool, commanding, presence shit.¡±

    ¡°Yeah¡­ wait what?¡± Said Pitt as he woke from his trance.

    Eoren didn¡¯t answer, instead walking up to the doors and reaching out to open them.

    ¡°Dick.¡± Half laughed Pitt as he steeled himself and followed the satyr.

    The satyr struggled to get the doors open, and he almost required Pitts help to actually get the portal wide enough to walk through. The room was not massive and dark as it was when each went through alone, now it was a rather small square room. It looked to be a sort of boot room. There was another slab-like wooden door set on the far wall. Himations and sandals were set, in varying degrees of neatness, along the walls and on hooks set on wooden racks. There must have been enough to outfit at least a hundred people.

    While the satyr and warrior took their sandals off, Pitt noted that a particular grouping of sandals was varied in size between twice as large a regular mans sandals to big enough to completely cover five others if it was folded over itself. The pair shared an apprehensive glance and moved to the next door.

    After another round of struggling with the door, they came to a hallway. To their left and ahead was a pristine white marble wall with a similarly clean, low bench against it. To their right the hall curved to the point that the satyr and warrior could not see the end. It was much taller than the previous room, vaulting the full height of the Lyceum. Suspended by chains of bronze, beautifully decorated clay oil lamps dangled from the high ceiling, illuminating a dozen or so novitiates who were reading scrolls or talking in small groups. Far from the long white togas, stiff necks and complete lack of joy that populated most of the schools that either man had attended, these people had a certain spark of life and movement in them. Eoren could almost feel a static pull for all the raw potential coming from them. None had the overwhelming radiance the deity they met coming had, but the novitiates unmistakably had the beginnings of divinity stewing inside them.

    And so the pair continued their journey into the Lyceum. They passed novitiates in armour, in clothing simple and grand and in strange garb that neither satyr nor man could guess at its utility. Most of the people in the hall dressed relatively normal, but those that didn¡¯t wore truly outlandish things. A man wore a cape of wicker that flowed like linen, a large woman wore a scarf of some massive reptile¡¯s skin with scales that seemed to be made of bronze. Eoren waved reluctantly but politely at a wild eyed satyr who had a necklace of human ears. No a soul aside from Eoren and Pitt spared a glance at these unusual folks.

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    And still they walked.

    They walked far longer than they should have, even in as large a building as the Lyceum. The slope the building had been built one wasn¡¯t perceivable, which prompted the first pang of unease between the pair. It was like the building was completely flat on the inside

    They had walked at least twenty minutes and still the architecture tantalized them with hints at an exit just around the corner. The people they walked by changed, some strange others not, but the walls remained maddeningly the same. Flat, polished, clear, shining marble. The pair felt an unsettling feeling, not quite outright fear, but the knowledge that something was wrong about this place''s geometry. And yet, despite the strangeness, the pair felt impatient.

    They had seen nothing to speak of regarding the godhood they were supposed to attain in these walls, merely a strange crowd of people (more than a hundred people incidentally, it appeared that taking one''s shoes off was optional). Strange happenings were something both men could handle very well. One had seen battle everyday before and since he was a teenager and the other had spoken at length with some of the smartest men in Graece. They were not people to be shaken easily. But this drawing out of the hallway strung their nerves to perfect tautness. They had, of course, passed the tests to get in, why hadn¡¯t they gotten even the slightest acknowledgment of that while inside?

    The hopeful god of wine and the hopeful god of war continued to make their way down the very long hallway. They had been walking for another five minutes now and had just seen people talking. It hardly seemed like this very, very long corridor contained the path to divinity.

    ¡°Man, I didn¡¯t expect the long path to godhood Maron warned us about to be so¡­ literal.¡± Said Eoren impatiently.

    ¡°Yeah I know. H-hey, did you notice that?¡± Responded Pitt.

    ¡°What?¡±

    ¡°We¡¯ve walked in a full circle. We should have walked into the otherside of that wall like ten feet ago.¡±

    ¡°We¡­ have?¡± Said Eoren. He stopped and leaned uneasily to get a better look from where they came from and then turned to look around the bend they were going to.

    ¡°Move wide-eyes!¡± Yelled a man suddenly bowling over Pittacos. He was dressed in shining bronze and red cotton and he had pushed the iron clad man to his knees with just a push of his shoulder. The iron clad warrior landed on his behind and his ill fitting helmet slipped over his eyes.

    The pair were too surprised to say anything in protest. Eoren helped Pitt to his feet, who pushed his helmet back up. Eoren glanced at the man as he left. He was certainly in a hurry, what with the two other people he tossed aside. Pitt sharply pulled away from the satyrs grip. It took a moment for Eoren to realise that Pittacos was embarrassed rather than angry, and another to cast a glare back at those who had stared a little at the fallen fighter.

    ¡°I¡¯m f-fine, I-I¡¯m a-alright.¡±

    ¡°Lots of real characters here eh? Come on man, whatever fuckery is going on here has to run out soon.¡± Said Eoren, staring down a novitiate who ogled for a half second longer than the rest of the crowd and gesturing forward softly.

    They walked for a bit longer. Still the same hallway, and it could have been a trick of the mind but some of the people seemed awfully familiar.

    ¡°Is that the same satyr?¡± Pitt spoke up after a moment.

    ¡°What, we all look the same?¡± Chirped Eoren back, then he continued before Pitt could get an indignant ¡°It¡¯s the ear necklace that tipped me off asshole¡± out.

    ¡°You¡¯re right though, I don¡¯t think the fuckery is going to run out if we just keep on walking. We¡¯re missing something.¡±

    The pair huddled up for a while, brainstorming a solution to this massive puzzle of a building. If they walked back the way they came the moment they rounded a corner the door leading back outside was right there, as if it had followed them. They looked over every inch of the stone benches. Eoren was about to use some magic to grow a seeking vine to see if there was any gap undetectable to their senses when Pitt called out.

    ¡°Hey, did you see that?¡±

    ¡°Wuh?¡± Replied Eoren, as he had not.

    ¡°I think I just saw the tail end of someone''s shirt disappear into the wall.¡±

    ¡°The solid marble one?¡± Eoren said incredulously.

    ¡°Yeah, lemme check something.¡±

    The ironclad soldier walked up to the wall opposite of the door. He scratched at the front of his helmet like a beard, a slightly goofy tic which Eoren noted was what he tended to do in deep thought. The man slowly extended his arm. Fingers splayed out, he pressed his hand into the cool stone.

    ¡°Hm. something else then.¡±

    ¡°Are you actually sure you saw someone hop through a wall?¡±

    ¡°Sure enough.¡±

    The warrior pressed his other hand onto the wall and shuffled left and right on the wall. Eoren, who was standing a bit behind him, took another look at the wall. Almost subconsciously he moved a little to the left and right with Pitt, in service of getting a better look. He noticed a very slight shadow high up on the wall. The kind of delicate shadow that would form only on two pieces of near perfect stone joined together. There was just enough of a difference that one could make out a faint numeric symbol, lurking in the minute shadows cast by the braziers.

    ¡°Why is there a three on this wall?¡± Eoren wondered aloud.

    As soon as the word three crossed his lips Pitt fell completely through the wall, as if it had turned to mist. Not a trace of the warrior was left on this side of the wall.

    ¡°Cool. Three.¡± Said Eoren, before he walked through a moment later.

 Chapter 7 - Down and Down

    Chapter 7

    Eoren strode into the room ready for anything and to his relief, his perception of anything that could happen when one walks into a room was not expanded against his consent. He came through the wall and Pitt was already fumbling an apology to a classroom. It was a rather cramped room, with a little less than twenty people in it surrounding a lecturer. Each of the students had a small, thin metal spike which seemed to tick one way or another erratically. None of them seemed particularly annoyed at the intrusion, and some didn¡¯t seem to realize there was any intrusion at all. Nevertheless, Pitt could very easily have been apologizing for dumping molten copper into their laps, what with the gravity he spoke with.

    The teacher had the sort of expression on his face which betrayed more confusion than annoyance. When he realized Eoren had come in and seemed slightly more level headed he cut through Pitt¡¯s droning.

    ¡°First day, novitiates?¡±

    ¡°Yessir.¡± Answered Eoren, a bit more cheerfully than was truly necessary in an effort to draw attention away from Pitt.

    ¡°Congratulations on passing the second test, now please leave through that door.¡± The Teacher continued, gesturing to a door directly opposite of the way the pair came in.

    ¡°Oh uh thank you, ¡®scuse me¡± responded Eoren, squeezing between two people with Pitt in tow.

    The pair clambered through the classroom and came to a fine wooden door set in the marble. Eoren, despite his anticipation, hesitated just a little before opening it. Sunlight streamed into the portal and the pair took in the courtyard.

    They had come out onto a mostly flat area which made up a little more than half of the total space in the clearing. Around the inside wall similar doors were set anywhere from almost touching to thirty feet apart. In  roughly twenty foot sections which were flanked by columns set into the wall. Ahead of them the other half of the courtyard sloped off and they couldn¡¯t see what was on it. On their right and forward were groups of novitiates listening with varying degrees of intentness to an equally varied cast of lecturers. Most were noble looking, aged people with white togas, but a little less than half were far different. For one, a woman with snake tails in place of both her legs teaching proper archery form. A dragon, twelve feet long and covered in shimmering golden scales about the length and width of a finger, was scratching complex geometric designs on a piece of slate. A little forge had been set up against the left wall close to the drop off and a class pouring bronze and a class distilling something from a yellow fluid shared a large fire. A little more than a quarter of all the lecturers were translucent and pale blue. They didn¡¯t seem bothered by this in the slightest and neither did their students. Further away from where the floor dropped off, a large, rectangular, sandy pit sat. In it a myriad of athletes trained, competed and fought. One of the competitors stood a full five feet above the crowd. Through all the chaos, curiosity sparked. People speaking about every subject Eoren or Pitt could list filled every nook and cranny of the courtyard. It was like an Agora, thought the satyr, with the bartering and stalls taken out. Indeed the space was massive enough that one could easily fit a lesser city''s Agora. Eoren was brought out of his awestruck haze by the sounds of iron clacking on iron beside him.

    The satyr turned and saw Pitt looking deeply nervous and puzzlingly, angry. He had gripped his short sword and was eyeing one of the translucent lectures.

    ¡°They¡¯re shades.¡± He responded to Eoren¡¯s questioning gaze as if that answered anything. He opened his mouth and was interrupted by one such shade saying;

    ¡°Indeed!¡±

    The pair turned to face the voice and were both shocked when they had to crane their necks to look up, for a ghostly centaur had more or less snuck up on them.

    He stood a good three feet above the satyr and warrior. His short but wild hair was held in place by a thin band of cloth with a bronze medallion dangled over his right temple. Above his conservative dress, with what must have been at least two mens worth of cloth draped over his chest and hindquarters in a sort of toga, hung a calm smile. Holding together the sheets of ghostly fabric were a collection of wooden pins. Through the riot of smells the Lyceum held, Eoren distinctly smelled cyprus coming from them which smacked of magic.

    ¡°Ah, first centaur or first shade?¡± asked the half-man calmly and with good humour.

    ¡°Centaur¡± Replied Pitt.

    ¡°Shade¡± Replied Eoren.

    ¡°Well I confess, I am not a particularly good example of either. Most shades are not as docile as those found here in the Lyceum and almost all centaurs are more wild than not.¡±

    ¡°Chiron.¡± Whispered an awed Eoren.

    ¡°Indeed. And you are the two novitiates I was supposed to show around before I was banished back to Elysium. You have obviously succeeded in the second trial and I¡¯m to show you to the third and answer any questions you might have.¡±

    The pair looked at each other and back at Chiron.

    ¡°Why are there shades teaching here?¡± Asked Eoren, which Pittacos nodded vigorously  in agreement with.

    ¡°A common question, though not the least valid for it. Did you think Androdamos, Risen King of Heaven, would limit the tutors in his most perfect school to the ranks of the living?¡±

    This made sense to the pair, though it still seemed morbid.

    ¡°I can assure you that no shade was torn from its final rest, all who teach here wish to be here. What else can I help you with?¡±

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    Perhaps a little less morbid but still, it felt unnatural for the dead to walk amongst the living.

    ¡°How uh, h-how do w-we actually get the, uh, god stuff into us?¡± Quietly said Pitt, which Eoren supported with an inquisitive look at Chiron.

    ¡°A more apt question than you know!¡± Exclaimed the centaur.  ¡°Walk with me.¡±

    He turned and began walking towards one of the doors. The pair took a second to fall in behind and beside him in surprise. As Chiron made his way through the crowd, some people bowing in respect and others just nodding and moving, he spoke again.

    ¡°Did the second trial seem a little frustrating for you?¡±

    Eoren looked at Pitt and shared what they both were thinking more or less.

    ¡°Yes, another trial to prove our worth seemed a little odd after facing down a snake and a uh polyclops?¡± Said Eoren.

    ¡°Hm, yes, well the original idea was to weed out those hero types who may have faced down a hundred monsters yet have little in the way of knowledge besides. But this doesn¡¯t appear to have worked! Almost all have no problem with it and the rest seldom take a day to figure it out.¡±

    ¡°Have the staff got something to replace it?¡± Asked Eoren.

    ¡°Not as such, but there are a few ideas, though more than a few of those gifted with prophecy have advised us to keep it, so it could stay or go really. But you are not here to make the Lyceum better, you are here to be bettered by the Lyceum! Forgive an old horse for his curiosity.¡±

    The pair had far more on their minds, what with godhood being dangled in front of them, to respond with more than polite nods. A bit to the right of Chiron, a shirtless woman with a snake around her shoulders held a man''s arm aloft like it was a great trophy. Eoren recognized the woman as a Maenad, which did little to slake his alarm.

    ¡°Should-should someone help him? Or stop her?¡± Quietly asked Pitt.

    ¡°Certainly, someone should be along to heal him shortly, and Anteia should calm down soon enough and ah! There it is.¡± Replied Chiron.

    Before he finished speaking a beleaguered man clutching a staff with articulated wooden serpents dangling from it, rushed to Anetia and gave her a stern look. After a bit of a stand off, Anteia relented and gave the man his arm back, or better put, dropped it on him. As the healer went to work and Anteia melted into the crowd, she cast a stuck out tongue at both the men.

    ¡°Is that¡­ common here?¡± Ventured Eoren.

    ¡°Extremely!¡± Chirped Chiron.

    ¡°Though we haven¡¯t had more than a handful of fatalities for the whole twenty years we¡¯ve operated.¡± He added quickly after seeing the pair pale.

    By this point they had reached the door that Chiron had been walking towards. While politely making excuses as to why he couldn¡¯t sample the apparently delicious meat jelly struck through with what looked like hair, offered by a tall and round woman, Eoren noted the peculiarities of the door.

    It was bound in bronze and made of cedar wood, which was like the other doors lining the inside of the courtyard. What was unlike the other doors however, was a hideously complicated mechanism in the centre of the door. While it was bronze, it wasn¡¯t shining gold bronze, like any Graek would be used to. No, this was a verdigris green bronze, ancient and wizened.

    Chiron, either guessing at their silence or well accustomed to those that spring from seeing such an odd object, interjected.

    ¡°Interesting isn¡¯t it? What is beyond this door is most precious. More precious than food to the starving or linen to the cold. The lock, that clockwork of bronze you see, is an old piece of hephaestus¡¯s work. The students of the Lyceum roam far and wide. All sorts of oddities and bits of treasure end up here. Well, shall we?¡± The centaur finished by putting his hand on a tiny lever sticking out of the lock.

    The pair said nothing but the clenching of jaws and the squaring of shoulders said all the centaur needed to know. The centaur turned back to the door and went about working on the lock. He flicked levels the size of ant wings, twisted knobs as thin as hair and timed all his movement to an odd ticking. Eoren, with satyr hearing sharpened by a childhood in the woodlands, could easily say he had never heard quite a sound like it. It sounded perhaps a little organic, like the thrum of the cicada, but it possessed a resonance in a way truly beyond what natural laws should allow. Of course the inquisitive satyr attempted to snoop in on the order that opened the lock, but the hellish complexity aside, he felt his memories of said code filter out of his mind like water flowing from a mountain lake. Perhaps, he thought, it could have simply been his brain checking out before even trying, but that felt charged somehow, like a finger was pressed on the scales of chance.

    Before very long, the lock gave a far more familiar sort of click and two bars of green bronze slid back into its mass, unbarring the door. Chiron pulled the door outward and stepped in, the pair following. They were at the top of a staircase, leading down into the earth. The stones here were no longer beautiful marble, rather it was a harder, meaner stone that the pair couldn¡¯t recognize. While it wasn¡¯t dark here, thanks to a couple copper lanterns hanging from the ceiling, their wider spacing lent a far less welcoming cast to the passageway.  The almost deafening sound of life and learning was shut out behind them as the door closed. Chiron ducked around a lantern and walked deeper down the stairs. They had a slight spiral to the right, meaning that neither Eoren or Pitt could tell how far down it went.

    ¡°Bet a drachma that it goes way further than¡¯s reasonable.¡± Muttered Eoren to Pitt.

    ¡°I was in the same hallway as you, goat, that''s a sucker''s bet.¡± Muttered Pitt back.

    Indeed, they walked and walked. Down and down, further than any mortal could dig through the bones of the earth in a mere twenty years. This place, this stairwell felt holy. It could have been the unusual bareness of the walls or the placement of the lanterns letting ample shadows dance, but this place invited introspection. After a long distance, the pair¡¯s ears had adjusted to the silence. The shade made no sound ahead of them and the pair began to hear naught but their heartbeats. Thump-thump thump-thump, like the sound of a drum, beat in their rib cages. In a way it felt like their soul making itself known.

    There was a gap in the placement of the lantern. The corridor in front of them lay dark and unlit. While the shade didn¡¯t halt his stride, the satyr and warrior hesitated before plunging into the gloom. In complete darkness now, with only the muscle memory of so many steps keeping them from tripping, they pressed on. Thump-thump thump-thump. Neither knew how long they walked in the dark. Both felt a deeper feeling well up as they went deeper and deeper. This place no longer felt holy, it felt old and watchful. Like the world was paying more attention here. Taken from their senses aside from hearing, the pair felt exposed to the eyes of the universe. They felt like little embers in a storm. They felt fleeting compared to the ageless stone.

    Ahead of them a twinkle of light sprang into being. Almost blinding after so long in the dark, a golden spark tapped its way up the stairs. It looked like a fragment of the sun, unshackled from its celestial prison. It danced and danced, beautiful to behold and then died. Just as sudden as it came it was gone. The blackness came back.

    Ever deeper the pair went. Once again light threaded up the stairwell, but this was no spark. Calm, heavenly light filled the passage. The shade seemed more hale, more here than he did before. He was less translucent sure, but his cheeks were less drawn, his shoulders more broad. The novitiates stepped into the light and did not blink away the pain that usually comes with one''s eyes adjusting to brightness. This light would never harm anyone, and it certainly wouldn¡¯t let any detail be missed in such an important room.

    They had made it to the bottom.