The Goddess of Blessed Death

The Lekythos

Macaria runs until she can't breathe and has grown used to the stares people throw her way, then she walks and walks and walks. Afternoon turns to late evening. She ignores every merchant and shopkeeper she passes until one shop catches her eye. It is tiny with a home on top. Inside, herbs hang from the ceiling and jars sit on the shelves. The matron comes forward to greet her.

"Hello, dear—Oh! My lady," she greets. "Hello, welcome. Thank you for visiting my shop. It's not much. Please let me know what you'd like. First item is free for you."

"Thank you," Macaria says. "What is in your jars?"

"Secrets," the woman says with a smile. "Good secrets filled with luck. Have you run out of luck? What kind? Pick the jar that attracts you. It will be determined by Fate, it will be what you need."

Most jars were pyxis and amphora, some pelike and pithos, and a handful vases(1). Some are made of cockle and clamshells, most of clay. Macaria reaches for a shiny black pyxis when the art of a white lekythos(2) catches her eye. More of the white lekythos line the shelf, she notices. Each depicts death in its various stages in various circumstances. She continues to follow the trail of white lekythos.

"Where did you get these?" Macaria asks.

"Oh, they appear sometimes."

Macaria looks back at the woman. "Do you know who brings them?"

The woman smiles but otherwise doesn't answer. "Look, look," she encourages. "Go further. You will feel drawn to one."

Macaria walks further into the shop. It's far larger than it appears from the outside, one long, narrow path. The air cools the further she goes into the shop as it darkens and the sun sets. She relies on the candle the shopkeeper carries with her, following a few feet behind Macaria.

White lekythos turn to marble. Figures are carved and etched into the containers with the same precision and care given to temple statues. Her walk slows as she inspects each one she passes with as much respect as the one who carved them would have: a family gathered, a daughter clasping her father's hand as her mother presents a small bird to her younger sister, Aristomache seeing her family and family servants off before she must travel to Hades, Kallisthenes and her mother mourning her dying father as he passes, a bride and her attendant, a man with his servant and dog, various scenes of a family saying good-bye to family, young and old alike, some old warriors and some young, most including a variation of one sitting figure around others standing.

Macaria stops. There is a low relief etching of a woman on the ground with a man standing over her with a sword. A winged man stands behind the woman sitting.

"I'd like this one?" Macaria says.

"Just one?" asks the woman. "Most people like to take two. Just in case."

"I'd like this one."

"You're funeral," the woman shrugs. She takes the lekythos down for Macaria and walks back down the narrow shop path. "I am a woman of my word. The first is free." When they get to the front of the shop, the woman hands the lekythos over to Macaria. It's cold and heavy. The inside is dark, and she isn't sure if it's the poor lighting or because there is nothing actually in there. Either way, it's free. Macaria thanks the woman, who responds with her usual smile.

When Macaria steps out of the store, it's night. The sky is a murky blue speckled with stars and the pale moon. She trudges through the streets and up the stairs back to Acropolis, resting the lekythos on her hip. No one is dying but she hopes by walking through the city and through parts of the citadel, people will talk about the funeral lekythos she carried around and will force people to respect her, even if it is a mere false pretense.