24. Ancient History: Part Two

The king had no choice but to go to the Oracle of Apollo and listen to the god's words, given through a mortal mouthpiece.

'The princess has offended the gods. Your legacy will be doomed if you continue to ignore our warnings.'

"She is my daughter. How can I abandon her?" The king protested, tears in his eyes.

'Death and bloodshed will follow her. The fates had bound her to a monster, one who will harass the world with fire and iron. We have warned you. This is your last chance.'

The king returned to the kingdom and wept as he gave the orders for what had to be done.

Psyche was forced to wear a shroud, her arms and legs secured tightly in the material as if she were already dead. She thrashed and struggled as the gauze covered her face.

"Father!" She screamed. "Don't do this! Please!" But he'd already retreated to his bed, unable to watch the spectacle. The attendants tied her to a funeral table and carried her through the streets of the city in a solemn march – the wails of mourning eerily following in her wake. It was a funeral fit for a princess. But Psyche was alive to endure it.

"Sister!" Psyche pleaded, unable to see who was around her. "Save me!" Nobody replied to her pleading, they refused to look at her. The gods had decreed that she must die and they dared not offend them. Rain fell, spitting down on Psyche and her dark shroud. "I've done nothing wrong!" Psyche sobbed.

They carried her out of the city and up into the mountains. The solemn priests of Apollo sternly watching the proceedings, to ensure that no trickery could be attempted. As they climbed the mountain, the air turned cold and Psyche shivered, her tears turning to ice on her face. The mourning wails subdued.

They left Psyche, arms and feet bound, on the high slopes of the rocky mountain. A gift for the gods. A sacrifice.

Night fell and Psyche wept. The sound ripping of fabric cut through the night and Psyche's head emerged from its wrappings. The rain turned to snow and she crawled like a worm on her belly, searching for a jagged rock to saw her bonds with. Snow crunched beneath her chest, soaking her front and stealing the last of her body heat.

"I don't want to die." She sobbed, feeling utterly alone. In the snow storm, she couldn't even see the lights of her kingdom in the valley below. Wolves howled, their cries chillingly close, and she stifled a sob and crawled faster. She found a stone and got to work. But her hands were clumsy from the cold and, in her fumbling, she sliced her hand. Blood wept from her palm and seeped into the rope. Psyche hissed, dropping the rock in her reaction to the pain. A sound, from close behind her, made her stiffen and she turned her head in its direction – her breathing shaky.

She was blind in the dark without torchlight and she tensed, thinking about wolves. But it was footsteps that she heard.

"Who's there?" She asked, hope clawing. "Sàrka?" Had her sister come to save her?

"No." It was a male voice that answered. One she didn't recognise. She trembled. "Your family has left you here to die." The voice mused.

Silent tears continued to fall down Psyche's face.

"I don't want to die."

"If I leave you here, you will. That's certain."

"Save me, please."

She flinched when she felt the man's breath on her face. "How are you able to see me?" She questioned.

"I'm a monster. I can see better in the dark then you see in sunshine." He touched her face, caressing her cheek with a long nail. Psyche closed her eyes. Her heart hammered in her chest and her stomach twisted in fear. The howling of wolves was getting closer.

"I'll sleep with you." She offered. "If that's what you want..."

One year later

Sàrka, now a queen, stood on the balcony of her palace – her crown proudly on her head. Husband-number-two was snoring in the bedroom behind her. Her first husband had died, under 'unusual circumstances'. Sàrka smiled contentedly with one had resting on her flat stomach. Hopefully soon, she'd fall pregnant and then she'd finally have everything she'd ever wanted.

"Sàrka." She heard her name being called and she frowned, peering down at the twilight lit garden below. Psyche stepped out from the shadows and pulled down her hood so that Sàrka could see her face. "Sister." The blood drained from Sàrka's face. "I need your help."

Casting furtive looks around in case anybody was watching her, Sàrka rushed out of the palace and across the rose garden. She ducked into the greenhouse where Psyche was waiting for her.

"Did anyone see you?" She hissed. Psyche shook her head.

"I was careful. I know the people will kill me if I'm recognised. But I had to risk it, I need your help." Psyche's gaze flickered to the crown and her expression saddened. "When did father die?"

"Shortly after your funeral. The doctors think he died from grief."

Psyche paced the room, her heart constricting at the loss. As she moved, her cloak flapped out and Sàrka's eyes narrowed. "You're with child." She stated. Psyche's belly was firm and round. It looked like it wouldn't be many weeks longer before the baby arrived.

"Yes. And I need your help, please sister. You're a queen now. You could protect me and my child. You could find a house for us. I'll live in hiding. No one need ever know, I promise."

Jealousy seethed in Sàrka's stomach.

"How are you alive?"

"I was saved from the mountain by a man. Well, not quite a man..."

"And you became his whore?" Sàrka's voice was laced with contempt.

The beautiful Psyche reached out and touched her sister's hand.

"This child is your niece or nephew. It's part of me, part of you and father. Please. If not for me then for the child's sake. I've risked everything by running away from my master."

"You should have stayed with him."

Tears filled Psyche's eyes.

"I couldn't stay on that mountain. Please, I know the world despises me but... you're my sister." She clasped tighter to Sàrka's hand. But Sàrka managed to pull her hand free.

"You were supposed to die, Psyche. You shouldn't have come back."

"Sister, please."

Sàrka's expression was cold. She pulled out the dagger she'd been hiding and she thrust it, stabbing Psyche hard in the stomach. Psyche fell to the ground, she stared up at her sister – frightened tears slipping down her face. Sàrka's grip remained on the knife and she stood over her younger sister. Psyche scrambled away, desperately trying to shield her belly, even as blood poured from between her fingers.

"DAMN YOU! CURSE YOU!" A terrible voice bellowed. Sàrka screamed as a god appeared in the greenhouse. His skin glowed radiantly and wings extended from his back but his handsome face was murderous.

"Master?" Psyche murmured weakly, stunned. How could this be the same being as the one she'd known for a year? But he had her master's voice.

Sàrka dropped down to her knees, her eyes wide with terror. This god was radiant but, in his beauty, there was also something terrible. Something inhuman.

"You sisters are evil!" Eros jabbed a finger at Psyche. "After all I've done for you, you betrayed and ran from me."

"Forgive me!" Psyche pleaded.

"And you," he rounded on Sàrka. "You shed the blood of your own family!"

"Forgive me. I'll build you temples. I'll give you gold. I'll make sacrifices to you!" Sàrka offered.

Eros glared at them both.

"You sisters offend the gods with every breath you take. You deserve no crowns. You deserve no peace. I condemn you to live as slaves for the gods!"

A mighty strike of lightening struck the sky outside and the answering thunder roared in their ears. "I curse your bloodline."

Psyche clutched at his ankle.

"Our baby..." she rasped weakly. Eros stared at her and felt like his heart was breaking.

"I loved you." Tears slid down his handsome face. "But you were always only pretending." He stepped back out of her reach. "Every moment we shared was a lie."

The two sisters cowered on the ground as the Fates wrapped invisible chains around them.

Chains their descendants would never escape from.