Kryptic ↟ Deimos

twelve: reminders of the past

LESYA LURKS UNSEEN in the shadows as Kassandra and Herodotos converse about the Cult and what she had learned during the meeting. Now that Nikolaos had been disposed of their attentions were shifting to Myrrine and Perikles —two more obstacles in their pursuit of absolute dominion. Rising from her place in the bushes, Lesya joins the misthios and historian tossing the dark helmet molded into the visage of a bearded man aside.

Fury is etched into Kassandra's face as she turns and prowls toward Lesya —a fucking traitor. Her fist swings and cuts through the air as Lesya steps back, willing herself not to fight. The Eagle Bearer comes at her quicker, teeth bared and snarling. The resemblance to her brother is uncanny. Lesya steps back again, her foot catching on an upturned stone, and falls backward into a ravine. Kassandra is there —knee pressed into her torso and one hand pushing her head back in the shallow water, the other holding the point of a honed spear at her neck. "You better start fucking explaining," she spits, "or I'll shove my spear through your throat!"

She'd seen glimpses of Lesya with her brother in the pyramid —both garbed in the white-and-gold armor of the Cult and covered in blood. She was unmistakable. Lesya lashes out, throwing Kassandra off her and into a felled stone column. As she rises, she begins stripping off the dark steel armor.

By the time the Eagle Bearer recovers, Lesya has stripped down to her breast-band —the deep and raised scars displayed to the world's eyes. Both Herodotos and Kassandra lour at the grim sight. "The Cult had no more use for me," she snaps, "I escaped." Not a single scar or mark is the result of her own incompetence in battle, they are all the Cult's doing. Reminders she and Deimos were just weapons —disposable in the end. "They tortured us. Look what they did to me," Lesya says, aggrieved —turning so they may see the mangled skin of her back. "Every monstrous thing we ever did in their name was to protect one another."

Kassandra once thought her scars horrific, but they numbered few in comparison to the ones Lesya bore and were likely less painful, too. The Eagle Bearer touches one of the jagged gouges on her back, sickened. "Help me destroy the Cult," she says, voice low and dangerous. If they worked together, the Cult of Kosmos would not stand a chance. "You must know who these people are."

Lesya shakes her head. "I knew Elpenor and the old priestess, Chrysis." They were the only two whose faces she knew, the others she only knew by voice. "The others always wore masks. Not even Deimos knows who they are," she explains, "it is not the Cult's way."

The Eagle Bearer sighs, pursing her lips. She knows Lesya is telling the truth. "Still, we can make them suffer at the edge of our blades. What do you say?" Lesya nods and grasps Kassandra's arm in camaraderie. They will burn the Cult of Kosmos to the ground.

HERODOTOS, THE ATHENIAN historian, implores they sail to Andros before Athens. Something happened between him, Kassandra, and the broken spear of Leonidas at Thermopylae and he believes part of the answer may lay on the island. With the historian aboard the Adrestia, they leave at first light, but throughout the day and night, Lesya cannot shake the feeling of being followed.

The Eagle Bearer departs the ship in one direction, and Lesya goes another —looking for a high vantage point to ease her paranoia. She throws herself at the rock face and begins scaling up the side. Sweat is beading on her brow by the time she hauls herself onto her knees at the pinnacle and stands. On the opposite side of the island is another ship with black and purple sails emblazoned with two yellow serpents. Her instinct had been right. The Cult had pursued them.

"You should know better than to sneak up on me, Deimos." Lesya knows now his name is Alexios, but old habits are hard to break. She may have a blade at her neck, but Deimos has one pressing into his groin. Concurrently, they withdraw their daggers —she turns to face him. Still handsome a voice in the back of her mind whispers though now dark circles ring his golden eyes. Her heart is pounding in her chest. It's been so long. "Why did you follow us?" She asks, breaking the looming silence.

Deimos ignores the question. "You're working with my sister now?" He crosses his arms —an indignant look about him.

Lesya shrugs. Kassandra does not trust her, a part of her doubts she'll ever be able to earn the Eagle Bearer's full trust after working with the Cult. "I wouldn't call it that–" Lesya hesitates, she has her own plans for the Cult of Kosmos "–but we have common enemies." The corner of his mouth twitches. "It's good to see you," she adds, lips kinked into a smile. Her mind often wanders to him —how could it not when he'd been a constant presence in her life for so many years?

"I'm supposed to kill you," he admits. Deimos had feigned ignorance as to when or where Enyo had escaped if interrogated by the others for as long as he could. Though when word had reached the Cult informing them their disgraced weapon was in league with the Eagle Bearer, everything changed. Like him, Enyo knew too much and was a threat to progress. At first, the task was appointed to Exekias, but there was only one person capable of putting her down and even then, it could prove a challenge. He holds her laurel gaze and keeps himself from reaching out for her. We should have stayed on that beach a small voice in the back of his mind repeats.

"But you haven't–" Lesya steps closer, then leans into him —hands pressing against the dimpled pectorals of his armor. If he wanted to kill her, he would have done so already. Out of instinct, he finds her hips as she presses her lips against the corner of his. He is quick to respond, tilting his head so his cracked lips are fully on hers. One of his hands settles against her cheek, and hers slide up to his shoulders. "–and you won't," she whispers taking a step back. Deimos curses because she is right and knows it.

"Go back to your ship," he mutters, glancing down at the ancient gateway. "I need to speak with her." Lesya closes the distance between them again, lifting her hand to his cheek —she doesn't smile, but her bright laurel eyes do. Until our paths cross again. Deimos holds her hand in place. His eyes slip shut until he finally pulls himself away from her.

IT WASN'T JUST the ship that bore Deimos to Andros Enyo spotted, but another at the southernmost part of the island. She moves swiftly through the sandy forest, leaping over felled trees and boulders. The beach encampment is poorly fortified —there is only a single large tent of fading and ripped canvas and scattered cargo from the anchored black-sailed bireme. Korinna the Chimera. By the water are two cages with Athenian sailors bound in each. Five guardians keep vigil garbed in the dark steel armor of the Cult. Lesya crouches in the low shrub, grip tightening around the hilt of one of her blades.

A soft whistle catches the attention of the guardian closest to where she lies in wait. "Who's doing that?" The man asks though when he catches a glimpse of gleaming metal in the sunlight it is too late. Lesya leaps from the underbrush, driving the blade up and through the base of the man's chin. Blood gurgles from his mouth and when he begins to slump forward, she pulls the blade back.

Skirting around the encampment the remaining guardians fall correspondingly —all without a sound. With a twist and a soft squelch Lesya's blade releases from the fallen man's eye. She flicks her wrist, sending the string of brain matter caught on the edge into the sand, and turns where the Cultist resides.

The soft reflection of the sun off her drawn blade gives away her presence. "Enyo?" The woman asks, voice trembling as she backs away from the disgraced champion and into a wooden desk at the back of the tent. Deimos had told them she was dead. Lesya takes another step —her smile grim and unforgiving. "Guards!" Korinna shouts. No one comes.

The Chimera reaches behind her, fingers curling around the hilt of a small dagger lying on the desk —it will do her no good against destruction incarnate, but she will not die empty-handed. She swings the small knife toward Lesya's neck. Catching her wrist, Lesya twists until the blade falls to the sand. There is no escaping the champion's iron hold. "You will die as you lived," she hisses, pressing the point of the blade into Korinna's chest. Her dark eyes widen as the sharp tip sinks into flesh, lips falling open with a sharp gasp and scream —groveling for a hold on her killer's wrists. "Heartless and alone."

LESYA RETURNS TO the Adrestia finding Barnabas nervously pacing the deck with the misthios and Herodotos locked in conversation, both wearing troubled looks. Barnabas' long sigh of relief when he spots her climbing onto the deck. "Where did you go?" Kassandra asks —abrasive and suspicious— arms crossed. Since her brother absconded the peak, she assumed Lesya had as well. Even if they were to work together against Kosmos, she held no loyalties to the Eagle Bearer.

An ivory mask —stained with fresh blood— and the golden artifact belonging to Korinna land at the Eagle Bearer's feet. "The Chimera is no more," Lesya announces, hands still stained red. Another cultist is dead.