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heirtothearcaneCheeks like chiselled marble blushed warmly in the light and lips parted ever so slightly, caught in a sigh. His strong nose did not make him look any less serene with half closed eyelids touched purple with sleep. The mask of a handsome young Greek man was painted to be lifelike right down to the sheen of his skin. The moment I laid eyes on it I adored it, and I feared it. This was Dream incarnate. Despite all my years of prayer and my life’s work I did not feel ready to look upon this face. He stared up at me with sockets that waited to have eyes put behind them. I could see the bed of seeds it rested on through the patiently waiting gap.
They didn't have to explain as much as they did. Not really. I understood what they were asking as soon as they formed their words. Still I stared blankly at them, wondering if they really wanted what they were asking me, offering me, or whether this was a surreal dream I had stumbled across.
I had seen it before; a mortal body hosting a divine being. It was a sacred, secret practice that conjured exactly as much awe and terror as it deserved. I had seen my female relatives take a veiled mask and Despoina's title on more than one occasion. I had seen a cousin become Hades and watched people shrink away from him throughout the night like shadows from the light. All except the Archon, of course, and the Priest, neither seemed to fear death, or the gods. I remember my heart seizing up when I saw the Archon lock eyes with Hades, holding his gaze even as he bowed. How he could do that I'd never know.
Naturally Isidor was not happy that I accepted. She grabbed my arm the moment we were alone.
“What are you thinking?” She hissed. “Do you know what you have to do? Do you know what could happen? This is exactly what we have been trying to avoid for all these years.”
I sighed. “I know, Isidor.” And then I pleaded, “But how could I have refused? How could I turn down the chance to be so close to him? To honour him?”
Her shoulders dropped in dismay. “Don’t you remember what happened to Coen after he took the mantle of Hades? How he became mad he couldn’t recreate the buildings he’d seen? How he became convinced that it was his divine duty to send the souls of the dead, of who should be dead, back to Hades’ realm?” She took a step closer, voice almost a whine. “And meddling with the connection of your soul with your body… What if you have a seizure?”
“I know,” I said, trying to let her hear how earnest I was when I said that. Then I turned my eyes to her, hoping she’d understand. “But Isidor… He’s given me everything I have. He’s made me everything I am. I have to do this.”
The preparation was long and thorough. My days became filled by a strict regime of what to eat, what to wear, when to pray and for how long. I wasn’t used to it. Several times I thought they were going to send me away and I was never quite sure if I would have been grateful or distraught. Eventually, though it felt like an age, the day came. It was a centenarian for the day one of my ancestors harnessed the Veil of Despoina and saved a whole host of people from the destructive anger of a rival family. There would be another like me who would invite Despoina to this celebratory feast, but I never saw who was to host her. Only my immediate family and those preparing me knew I was to be a part of the celebrations.
I began by fasting, which wasn’t difficult for me. I barely ate as it was. Later on I bathed using a strigil and oils to then be led to a room where we began the process in earnest. There were candles and sacrifices of flowers, food and wine heralded by hymns and chants and the secret invocations of the priest which I could not even try to imitate. They handed me a pipe and I inhaled the sweet, floral vapours hesitantly at first, calmly the second time and gladly the third. My head was still floating away with the smoke when the priestesses brought out a cloth made of the most beautiful material I’d ever seen. White specks glinted like stars on a sea of dark cloth. As I stared into it, the cloth shimmered and I glimpsed scenes of summer and dancing lovers in the brief sheen. They dressed me in this magical robe and passed me the pipe again. All around me they moved and spoke and sang so intensely, but I watched them with a surreal calm. I felt as though I were watching this happen to someone else. That they brought the box of black and white to a stranger and set another face upon his, transforming him from an awkward boy to a handsome man. They led this heavy lidded man from the room thick with incense and opium, dancing with him when he turned a stumble into a spin, and brought him to a cave where they lay him down on a bed of poppies, surrounded by poppy seeds.
It was intoxicatingly wonderful. Everything felt like such bliss around me. Everything was perfect, everything was safe, and I saw the world blend with the land of dreams. Greys became silvers and the roughness of the stone made the whole cave shimmer. The unmistakable, heady sensation of power filled the air and turned the electrifying nerves gathered in a bundle in my stomach into a lead weight that hummed with unbearable anticipation. I waited, admired with a blissful smile that mimicked the mask I wore. I was beyond the fears my nerves were born from. They lingered, but I was breathless with hope. I felt my nerves as they slipped away, dreams do not fear, and left me suddenly aware that I was surrounded by beauty, by bright, familiar things. They had made the earth as similar to my home as they could imagine. If they had dreamed more they might have come closer, but I appreciated the small touches - the sound of a river nearby, the half light of dusk to walk by... I wandered out into the garden of blooming flowers and full trees, seeing that Persephone’s touch was everywhere.Those who had called me stayed on the paths that they knew, and waited for my approach. They served the gods but knew less of me than they might have wished, not being frequenters of my father’s realm.
The priestesses with their long dark hair and purple dresses welcomed me with flowers they wove into my hair while we talked about the stars. Music guided us along winding stairs and through the home they had prepared to welcome me and the goddess of mysteries. The halls were decorated with flowers and ceilings filled with orbs of light that twinkled as the night sky. Everyone wore their best garments with as many medals as they could. They parted like a bowing sea for me, and once I was deep inside their home they began to greet me, one at a time as the priestesses kept the tide at bay. Each one declared their respects boldly only to whisper and bow, asking divination for dreams that meant nothing and for long dead men to speak to them in their sleep. They asked for visions of the future, and visions of the past. They asked for inspiration and divine touches, divine intervention to befall them as they dreamed. They asked for mysteries to be handed to them, for ancient rites to be revealed to them, for the honour of walking with gods and heroes. Their asked for their heart’s desire and deepest dreams to be fulfilled. They pawed and pleaded and moaned and begged as far as they could under the watchful eyes of those around us. It dawned on me that they did not know who I was beyond the title they gave me. The one who knew me, and my world, was the one who offered me his body. And, perhaps, the one who followed me as a shadow, like a worried mother afraid I might fall.
In the breath between two ‘devotees’ I left my guardians and walked up to her. “Do not worry,” I told her. “He is resting in easeful sleep.”
“He believes he must honour you however he can,” she replied. “But I will watch over him, and protect him, no matter who says he doesn’t need me to.”
I looked over her face, the protective fire in her eyes framed by the midnight of her hair. “And what dream do you wish for?” I asked, since she was one of a handful who had not told me already.
“Dreams mean nothing to me,” she said. “Viatorus has all of mine.”
Like hands reaching from the Acheron, the priestesses appeared and coaxed me away to be honoured by more men and women further inside. We descended into cavernous depths that they had gone to great lengths to heat with torches and magic. It was here that I met and greeted the goddess they called Mistress of the House and hailed in the most honoured place at the head of the hall where she sat on a high chair and watched the festivities through her veil. I was placed nearby and it was here I saw that many treated her as they did me, like children who would flatter and beg for their wants.
In hushed words I asked her, “They treat you as such and still you come here, why?”
She turned to me, the barest hint of her features visible through the veil, and said, “They see me, and they honour me. They honour the mysteries for what they are, and many should but few do. I attend for my right to walk this world, and for those who lay out offerings for me though offerings are scarce. I am here because of my mysteries. Just as you are here because of them.”
Having given her answer, she sat back into her seat and continued her watch over our hosts.
They put on a play of the events that had earned me this honour. A modern legend, they said, though it had no clash of gods or true monsters. The Olympians would be disappointed in it, but it pleased the people.
They brought us sweet wines and floral breads, told us comedies and shared their talents. Anything that was mentioned was summoned immediately for our pleasure.
As the night carried on my attention drifted to the quieter corners where a few elder guests had already parted to my father’s realm. I rose from my chair and drifted into the crowd to join people I knew more of than so many in this crowd. On my way I noticed a woman watching me with a peculiar expression that did not remove the smirk fixed onto her lips. Our eyes met and I stopped, wondering what she would request of me.
“You’re really a god?” She asked instead, both suspicious and sceptical.
“I am.”
She didn’t move, but still eyed me warily. “But why you?”
What a strange thing to ask. “So I could tell you something.”
Her brow came down heavily to frown. “Tell me what?”
It was her father’s lips that told her, “Artists who paint solely with lead die by their own craft.”
Her face became white and she turned, trying to flee without appearing to, a scowl the only thing to hide her fear.
It was my own lips that curled in a soft smile. “Run along, little mouse.”
Some of the crowd followed me to the corner of a few sleeping souls. The children were especially excited as blankets and cushions were brought to pad the stone floor and wooden chairs. Whether to impress their company or out of genuine desire, my audience grew into a comfortable sprawl. More wine and stories passed between us, and tales of dreams past and dreams desired. Laughter rippled through the group, quiet tears were shed, and in the end we joined in peaceful slumber.
My head ached. I barely registered the hands pulling me to my feet and through the halls. Sleep still blurred my eyes and I only noticed the mask being removed when the coolness of fresh air hit skin damp with a light sweat. By the time they began pulling the robes from me I was awake enough to be suddenly self conscious about being left wearing so little as distant cousins took away the ceremonial clothing. Incense was lit and prayers said before I was ushered into a bathroom to clean myself up. Finally I was alone. And I felt so… disgusting… So inherently uncomfortable with my own skin. I battled through my tightening lungs and tried to reason out my feelings as Isidor had taught me to. I didn’t feel right. I didn’t know what I’d rather be, either. This… This just didn’t feel like my body. It felt like someone else’s, like it didn’t belong to me anymore. I poured myself a bath and wondered if this was normal. I wondered if this was a sign that I was meant to somehow give my body to the gods and take another one. If it was like the myths then maybe I’d end up as a flower, or a bird... The panic subsided, but my unease did not.
In my own clothes, washed and awake, I felt a little better. A priestess had directed me downstairs to where breakfast had been prepared for me, but I saw no sign of purple robes again. I had expected to see Isidor waiting with a plate piled high but I was surprised to find someone else eating at the table they had set out. The woman was only a little older than me, and a face I only barely recognised. She looked up when I came into the room and froze, her cheeks bulging with food. We stared at each other for a moment and then she ducked her head to continue eating and I, taking the cue, turned my attention to the spread set out for… us.
A slice of toast and jam dutifully placed on my plate, I sat down across from the woman who had now taken to eating in smaller bites. We sat in silence for a few minutes before I cleared my throat and tried to make conversation. “I-It’s Xene, isn’t it?”
She stilled again, swallowed and then nodded.
We returned to silence.
Then, “Viatorus?”
I blinked at her and then smiled, nodded. “Viatorus.”
She nodded but before she continued eating she winced at me. “It’s a silly name.”
A breathless laugh escaped me and I smiled wider. “I know.”
My good humour got a smile out of her and I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Xene…” She’d just stuffed four olives into her mouth so all she could do was look up, but she didn’t seem annoyed at me talking so I continued. Tentatively. “When you… When you woke up today… Did you feel…” I wasn’t sure I could describe it. “… strange?”
She considered this for a moment, then shrugged and nodded. “Yes. I felt strange.”
I frowned uncertainly. “Strange… bad?”
Again she thought about this and then nodded, shrugging as she picked out more food. “Yes, strange-bad.”
I stared at her, baffled. “But… you’re all right with it?”
She looked as confused as me when she stared back. “I was a goddess, and now I am not. It is normal that I do not feel as good.”
“When you put it that way, I suppose it makes sense,” I conceded quietly.
She grinned smugly with full cheeks and we both went back to picking at our food.
Interrupting our meal again I asked, “Would you do it again?”
“Yes.” She stopped eating to sigh, and for the first time she looked at me properly. “Yes, you feel strange afterwards. But that is because you have changed. You have been given a gift. You don’t stop doing new things if you feel different, do you?”
I smiled meekly. “No. You don’t.”
The doors burst open and Isidor appeared in a flurry. She stopped when she saw me, and it seemed like she’d exhaled for the first time since we’d parted. Now able to smile, she walked calmly over to the table.
She was breathless telling me, “Sorry I’m late, sorry. I slept in.”
I blinked and then a broad grin spread across my face. “You slept in.” A beat. “You?”
Immediately her smile was replaced with a scowl. “I sleep in once in eighteen years, once and you get smug about it…” She trailed off as her eyes spotted my plate. “Is that all you’re eating?!”
And in an instant things became normal again.
They didn't have to explain as much as they did. Not really. I understood what they were asking as soon as they formed their words. Still I stared blankly at them, wondering if they really wanted what they were asking me, offering me, or whether this was a surreal dream I had stumbled across.
I had seen it before; a mortal body hosting a divine being. It was a sacred, secret practice that conjured exactly as much awe and terror as it deserved. I had seen my female relatives take a veiled mask and Despoina's title on more than one occasion. I had seen a cousin become Hades and watched people shrink away from him throughout the night like shadows from the light. All except the Archon, of course, and the Priest, neither seemed to fear death, or the gods. I remember my heart seizing up when I saw the Archon lock eyes with Hades, holding his gaze even as he bowed. How he could do that I'd never know.
Naturally Isidor was not happy that I accepted. She grabbed my arm the moment we were alone.
“What are you thinking?” She hissed. “Do you know what you have to do? Do you know what could happen? This is exactly what we have been trying to avoid for all these years.”
I sighed. “I know, Isidor.” And then I pleaded, “But how could I have refused? How could I turn down the chance to be so close to him? To honour him?”
Her shoulders dropped in dismay. “Don’t you remember what happened to Coen after he took the mantle of Hades? How he became mad he couldn’t recreate the buildings he’d seen? How he became convinced that it was his divine duty to send the souls of the dead, of who should be dead, back to Hades’ realm?” She took a step closer, voice almost a whine. “And meddling with the connection of your soul with your body… What if you have a seizure?”
“I know,” I said, trying to let her hear how earnest I was when I said that. Then I turned my eyes to her, hoping she’d understand. “But Isidor… He’s given me everything I have. He’s made me everything I am. I have to do this.”
The preparation was long and thorough. My days became filled by a strict regime of what to eat, what to wear, when to pray and for how long. I wasn’t used to it. Several times I thought they were going to send me away and I was never quite sure if I would have been grateful or distraught. Eventually, though it felt like an age, the day came. It was a centenarian for the day one of my ancestors harnessed the Veil of Despoina and saved a whole host of people from the destructive anger of a rival family. There would be another like me who would invite Despoina to this celebratory feast, but I never saw who was to host her. Only my immediate family and those preparing me knew I was to be a part of the celebrations.
I began by fasting, which wasn’t difficult for me. I barely ate as it was. Later on I bathed using a strigil and oils to then be led to a room where we began the process in earnest. There were candles and sacrifices of flowers, food and wine heralded by hymns and chants and the secret invocations of the priest which I could not even try to imitate. They handed me a pipe and I inhaled the sweet, floral vapours hesitantly at first, calmly the second time and gladly the third. My head was still floating away with the smoke when the priestesses brought out a cloth made of the most beautiful material I’d ever seen. White specks glinted like stars on a sea of dark cloth. As I stared into it, the cloth shimmered and I glimpsed scenes of summer and dancing lovers in the brief sheen. They dressed me in this magical robe and passed me the pipe again. All around me they moved and spoke and sang so intensely, but I watched them with a surreal calm. I felt as though I were watching this happen to someone else. That they brought the box of black and white to a stranger and set another face upon his, transforming him from an awkward boy to a handsome man. They led this heavy lidded man from the room thick with incense and opium, dancing with him when he turned a stumble into a spin, and brought him to a cave where they lay him down on a bed of poppies, surrounded by poppy seeds.
It was intoxicatingly wonderful. Everything felt like such bliss around me. Everything was perfect, everything was safe, and I saw the world blend with the land of dreams. Greys became silvers and the roughness of the stone made the whole cave shimmer. The unmistakable, heady sensation of power filled the air and turned the electrifying nerves gathered in a bundle in my stomach into a lead weight that hummed with unbearable anticipation. I waited, admired with a blissful smile that mimicked the mask I wore. I was beyond the fears my nerves were born from. They lingered, but I was breathless with hope. I felt my nerves as they slipped away, dreams do not fear, and left me suddenly aware that I was surrounded by beauty, by bright, familiar things. They had made the earth as similar to my home as they could imagine. If they had dreamed more they might have come closer, but I appreciated the small touches - the sound of a river nearby, the half light of dusk to walk by... I wandered out into the garden of blooming flowers and full trees, seeing that Persephone’s touch was everywhere.Those who had called me stayed on the paths that they knew, and waited for my approach. They served the gods but knew less of me than they might have wished, not being frequenters of my father’s realm.
The priestesses with their long dark hair and purple dresses welcomed me with flowers they wove into my hair while we talked about the stars. Music guided us along winding stairs and through the home they had prepared to welcome me and the goddess of mysteries. The halls were decorated with flowers and ceilings filled with orbs of light that twinkled as the night sky. Everyone wore their best garments with as many medals as they could. They parted like a bowing sea for me, and once I was deep inside their home they began to greet me, one at a time as the priestesses kept the tide at bay. Each one declared their respects boldly only to whisper and bow, asking divination for dreams that meant nothing and for long dead men to speak to them in their sleep. They asked for visions of the future, and visions of the past. They asked for inspiration and divine touches, divine intervention to befall them as they dreamed. They asked for mysteries to be handed to them, for ancient rites to be revealed to them, for the honour of walking with gods and heroes. Their asked for their heart’s desire and deepest dreams to be fulfilled. They pawed and pleaded and moaned and begged as far as they could under the watchful eyes of those around us. It dawned on me that they did not know who I was beyond the title they gave me. The one who knew me, and my world, was the one who offered me his body. And, perhaps, the one who followed me as a shadow, like a worried mother afraid I might fall.
In the breath between two ‘devotees’ I left my guardians and walked up to her. “Do not worry,” I told her. “He is resting in easeful sleep.”
“He believes he must honour you however he can,” she replied. “But I will watch over him, and protect him, no matter who says he doesn’t need me to.”
I looked over her face, the protective fire in her eyes framed by the midnight of her hair. “And what dream do you wish for?” I asked, since she was one of a handful who had not told me already.
“Dreams mean nothing to me,” she said. “Viatorus has all of mine.”
Like hands reaching from the Acheron, the priestesses appeared and coaxed me away to be honoured by more men and women further inside. We descended into cavernous depths that they had gone to great lengths to heat with torches and magic. It was here that I met and greeted the goddess they called Mistress of the House and hailed in the most honoured place at the head of the hall where she sat on a high chair and watched the festivities through her veil. I was placed nearby and it was here I saw that many treated her as they did me, like children who would flatter and beg for their wants.
In hushed words I asked her, “They treat you as such and still you come here, why?”
She turned to me, the barest hint of her features visible through the veil, and said, “They see me, and they honour me. They honour the mysteries for what they are, and many should but few do. I attend for my right to walk this world, and for those who lay out offerings for me though offerings are scarce. I am here because of my mysteries. Just as you are here because of them.”
Having given her answer, she sat back into her seat and continued her watch over our hosts.
They put on a play of the events that had earned me this honour. A modern legend, they said, though it had no clash of gods or true monsters. The Olympians would be disappointed in it, but it pleased the people.
They brought us sweet wines and floral breads, told us comedies and shared their talents. Anything that was mentioned was summoned immediately for our pleasure.
As the night carried on my attention drifted to the quieter corners where a few elder guests had already parted to my father’s realm. I rose from my chair and drifted into the crowd to join people I knew more of than so many in this crowd. On my way I noticed a woman watching me with a peculiar expression that did not remove the smirk fixed onto her lips. Our eyes met and I stopped, wondering what she would request of me.
“You’re really a god?” She asked instead, both suspicious and sceptical.
“I am.”
She didn’t move, but still eyed me warily. “But why you?”
What a strange thing to ask. “So I could tell you something.”
Her brow came down heavily to frown. “Tell me what?”
It was her father’s lips that told her, “Artists who paint solely with lead die by their own craft.”
Her face became white and she turned, trying to flee without appearing to, a scowl the only thing to hide her fear.
It was my own lips that curled in a soft smile. “Run along, little mouse.”
Some of the crowd followed me to the corner of a few sleeping souls. The children were especially excited as blankets and cushions were brought to pad the stone floor and wooden chairs. Whether to impress their company or out of genuine desire, my audience grew into a comfortable sprawl. More wine and stories passed between us, and tales of dreams past and dreams desired. Laughter rippled through the group, quiet tears were shed, and in the end we joined in peaceful slumber.
My head ached. I barely registered the hands pulling me to my feet and through the halls. Sleep still blurred my eyes and I only noticed the mask being removed when the coolness of fresh air hit skin damp with a light sweat. By the time they began pulling the robes from me I was awake enough to be suddenly self conscious about being left wearing so little as distant cousins took away the ceremonial clothing. Incense was lit and prayers said before I was ushered into a bathroom to clean myself up. Finally I was alone. And I felt so… disgusting… So inherently uncomfortable with my own skin. I battled through my tightening lungs and tried to reason out my feelings as Isidor had taught me to. I didn’t feel right. I didn’t know what I’d rather be, either. This… This just didn’t feel like my body. It felt like someone else’s, like it didn’t belong to me anymore. I poured myself a bath and wondered if this was normal. I wondered if this was a sign that I was meant to somehow give my body to the gods and take another one. If it was like the myths then maybe I’d end up as a flower, or a bird... The panic subsided, but my unease did not.
In my own clothes, washed and awake, I felt a little better. A priestess had directed me downstairs to where breakfast had been prepared for me, but I saw no sign of purple robes again. I had expected to see Isidor waiting with a plate piled high but I was surprised to find someone else eating at the table they had set out. The woman was only a little older than me, and a face I only barely recognised. She looked up when I came into the room and froze, her cheeks bulging with food. We stared at each other for a moment and then she ducked her head to continue eating and I, taking the cue, turned my attention to the spread set out for… us.
A slice of toast and jam dutifully placed on my plate, I sat down across from the woman who had now taken to eating in smaller bites. We sat in silence for a few minutes before I cleared my throat and tried to make conversation. “I-It’s Xene, isn’t it?”
She stilled again, swallowed and then nodded.
We returned to silence.
Then, “Viatorus?”
I blinked at her and then smiled, nodded. “Viatorus.”
She nodded but before she continued eating she winced at me. “It’s a silly name.”
A breathless laugh escaped me and I smiled wider. “I know.”
My good humour got a smile out of her and I breathed a sigh of relief.
“Xene…” She’d just stuffed four olives into her mouth so all she could do was look up, but she didn’t seem annoyed at me talking so I continued. Tentatively. “When you… When you woke up today… Did you feel…” I wasn’t sure I could describe it. “… strange?”
She considered this for a moment, then shrugged and nodded. “Yes. I felt strange.”
I frowned uncertainly. “Strange… bad?”
Again she thought about this and then nodded, shrugging as she picked out more food. “Yes, strange-bad.”
I stared at her, baffled. “But… you’re all right with it?”
She looked as confused as me when she stared back. “I was a goddess, and now I am not. It is normal that I do not feel as good.”
“When you put it that way, I suppose it makes sense,” I conceded quietly.
She grinned smugly with full cheeks and we both went back to picking at our food.
Interrupting our meal again I asked, “Would you do it again?”
“Yes.” She stopped eating to sigh, and for the first time she looked at me properly. “Yes, you feel strange afterwards. But that is because you have changed. You have been given a gift. You don’t stop doing new things if you feel different, do you?”
I smiled meekly. “No. You don’t.”
The doors burst open and Isidor appeared in a flurry. She stopped when she saw me, and it seemed like she’d exhaled for the first time since we’d parted. Now able to smile, she walked calmly over to the table.
She was breathless telling me, “Sorry I’m late, sorry. I slept in.”
I blinked and then a broad grin spread across my face. “You slept in.” A beat. “You?”
Immediately her smile was replaced with a scowl. “I sleep in once in eighteen years, once and you get smug about it…” She trailed off as her eyes spotted my plate. “Is that all you’re eating?!”
And in an instant things became normal again.
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