Kryptic ↟ Deimos

proem: an offering of flesh

MEN WEARING IVORY masks carved into terrible expressions file into the villa's courtyard. Leandros, son of Kalliades, faces a momentous decision —the wrong choice will cost him his position as a thesmothetai and his life. One of the masked men inspects the coffer brimming with coins and jewels. This much is commonplace. Payment keeps Leandros in power and his family comfortable.

The man who looked over the coin rises. "Tribute alone is no longer enough to satiate the Cult," he announces, dark eyes peering through the mask. He looks past Leandros to his wife —Kalanthe— and his children. "We demand an offering of flesh if you are to remain an archon of Athens."

Leandros turns to his family, gaze skimming over his four children —only three are from his loins, and they are all sons. His gaze falls upon Lesya —a scrawny girl for her age, who's ugly and too pale for someone who spends so much time running in the streets. He has no doubt finding a suitable match and providing a dowry large enough for anyone to desire her will be a burden, as most daughters are. He made his choice long before the Cult of Kosmos ever petitioned for more than just riches. Kalanthe grips her daughter's shoulder, tears springing up in her eyes. "Leandros! No!" Her protests do nothing.

"Quiet, woman!" He hisses. It is not her place or turn to speak. Power and politics are the realms of men. Kalanthe wraps her arm around the girl's shoulders and Lesya glances up at her mother, not understanding why she is crying and holding so tightly to her or why her brothers all wear the same desolate and fearful expression.  

"Don't!" Kalanthe cries as one of the masked men steps up to Leandros' side. "Not my daughter!"

Timotheus, Tityros, and Tundareos step before their mother and sister —their boyish faces set with grim determination. "We won't let you take her," Timotheus declares. He is the eldest son and he swore to protect his little sister. Leandros glowers at his sons' defiance and pushes them aside. His hand wraps around Lesya's arm, ripping her from her mother's embrace. It is only then that she begins crying. But a hand, gentler than her father's, comes to rest upon her shoulder. 

Kalanthe steps up to her husband rearing back and slaps the archon across the face before spitting at his feet. "Enough, Kalanthe!" Leandros roars, shoving his distraught wife backward in his rage. "It is done." The words seal Lesya's fate as the masked men escort her from the villa.

Lesya weeps as they carry her through the streets of Athens and Piraeus to a three-masted trireme called the Areion with a gilded rearing winged horse for a figurehead. The moon shines silver upon dark water. Vanishing on the horizon is the port and Lesya's home. No one aboard the ship offers any comfort to the girl as she weeps, crying herself to sleep at the bow.

THE AREION IS well-and-truly at sea come dawn. Lesya will not speak to anyone, not even if spoken to. She retreats into herself and imagines she is back in Athens —her brothers playing in the villa courtyard, her mother teaching her how to weave.

On the third day, a gull of a man with short, thin brown hair sits next to her. She recognizes his voice as one of the masked men and backs away from him. "Eat, child," he says, offering a hunk of brown bread, a slice of hard cheese, and a small cluster of grapes. Lesya's stomach rumbles at the prospect even if she turns her nose up at the meal. Sighing, the man lays the food and cup of water at the girl's side and rises. He knows what hardships lie ahead and looks down at the scrawny thing with pity. "You will need all your strength." The weak never survived the trials. Lesya gives into her stomach's pleas once the man is no longer watching.

She learns the man who always brings her food is Elpenor of Kirrha, a rich man who will serve as her mentor until they arrive in Phokis. Compared to the others aboard the Aerion, Elpenor is nice. He plays astragaloi with her in the evenings and speaks of his travels around the Greek world as a merchant. To Lesya, it is a pleasant diversion from her current predicament, but Elpenor sees it as his gift to Lesya —the last chance for her to enjoy the freedom and naivety of childhood

After a week at sea, Elpenor and his companions grow disquieted. Their unease only makes Lesya more frightened about what the future holds. Elpenor takes a seat at the girl's side near one of the masts —she's managed to make a necklace from a piece of frayed rope and a broken piece of shell. He offers her the same meal simple meal, but this time there are two strips of salt-cured venison. He tells her if the gods are good, they will reach Phokis during the night. Lesya expects to partake in another game of astragaloi, but Elpenor gives a solemn headshake, raking the sheep ankle bones into a canvas pouch 'fore tying it off with a leather cord. 

Tonight is when her childhood dies and the innocent twinkle will fade from her eyes. Chrysis will make sure of it. He lays his hand on her shoulder. "Leandros claims you destroyed his family," he pauses and watches the despair overtake the girl's young face at the bitter reminder of her father and family, "so you will become destruction."

Her eyes widen and fear overtakes her. "When you depart this ship, you will leave your past, your name, and your family to become something greater," Elpenor tells her with surety. He knows there is resolve in the girl to have endured eight springs with a man as odious as Leandros. Now she would have to put her resolve to a different task —surviving. Lesya says nothing, only trembles in place.

"The moment you step off this ship you are Lesya no longer, but Enyo," he says, his heavily-ringed hand moving from her shoulder to chin. "Do you understand, child?" Elpenor asks. Lesya nods.

here we go.