The Hand of Alozoneia

The ceremonies that followed were heavy on Arxiphos. He had loved his father and even as he did his best to appear strong and stoic, his eyes burned with tears, moistening, drying out, swelling and sinking. Through it all, Alazoneia sought out his arm and hung on it, holding herself close to him. He desired nothing more than to be alone, away from her.

The Hegemon performed the rituals, cleaning the body of the priest, burning it to ashes and scattering its remains into the gentle flow of the Apista, river of the nymph and goddess. On the event of the Archiereios's death they rattled off litanies to the greater gods as well. Ceres. Poseidon. Oceanus.

After what seemed an eternity, the period of mourning came to a close. Arxiphos woke once again with the soft light, touched his wick to the three fires of Enypnia and offered his handful of wood and herbs. After his prayers he sat on his bed and watched the idol bathe in her cloud of perfume. He waited. For the past months he had tended to his infirm father. Now he was unemployed.

Once the smoke had dissipated, he extinguished the candle and moved to let in the fresh morning air. As he pulled away the flap he saw leather-strapped feet waiting for him. He lifted it the rest of the way and pinned it to the top of the doorpost. A palace guard, Anax, stood perfectly still, his jaw tensed, his eyes fixed on Arxiphos.

Arxiphos was about to speak when he saw the second figure a few paces behind him. Alazoneia, spinning with excitement, crossed her arms tightly and suppressed a smile. When their eyes met the smile erupted into a stifled giggle, her arms swung at her sides and she turned her gaze toward the dirt road at her feet.

He exhaled slowly. He knew what this was about.

"The Hegemon summons you to the palace immediately," Anax barked.

"Alright," Arxiphos said calmly, "just let me gather my things." He pulled the pins out and let the flap fall between him and the Hegemon's guard. He buried his face in his hands and jerked with frustration once the flap was down. He wanted to yell or hit something, but the guard was outside. Alazoneia was listening.

He kept his arms crossed under his cloak as they walked to the palace. He didn't want Alazoneia slipping her hands around his arms again. It didn't do much good. Soon her arm was wrapped around one shoulder, her cheek pressed against the other, bouncing with each step. He looked forward, trying to ignore her. Anax stomped like a machine in front of them.

Soon, they arrived to the front steps of the palace where the Hegemon waited; a thick man, dressed in fine robes of crimson and gold, a blue sash pinned about his middle, a symbol of the river, studded with sapphire and opal. He grinned broadly and threw his arms open wide when he saw the trio arriving.

"Welcome, my new son!" he exclaimed with an exaggerated vibrato. Arxiphos bowed respectfully. The word son dug into him. Son implied father. His father was dead. "You know what I am going to ask, don't you?"

Arxiphos faked a smile and nodded. It was early enough in the morning. No one was in the streets save them. This was as private as this conversation would get. No need to pass to the inner courts of the palace. A conversation so delicate and decisive. But Arxiphos need one thing before he could respond.

"Time, sir," he said. "This is important and I'd like to think it over. That is, if you permit it."

The smile slipped off the Hegemon's face. Alazoneia loosened her hold. Anax jerked his head to glare at him. "What is there to think? The choice seems obvious to me," the Hegemon said. "By tradition the son of the Archiereios accepts the position of his father and takes the Hegemon's daughter as his wife. You will have all the riches and comforts you could hope for, a special closeness to our patroness, a set role in society and Alazoneia's hand in marriage. What more could a man hope for? Essentially there is no choice. It's your duty, your destiny, a blessed fate."

Arxiphos hesitated. "I understand," he finally said. "I would still like some time."

The Hegemon aimed his finger at the young man, "It is the will of Enypnia. Accept."

"I believe it is. But is it my will? That's the problem, sir. Forgive me for speaking plainly."

The Hegemon stood in shock. With every moment of silence that passed Arxiphos felt the thrill of fear stirring in his breast, darkening, pulsating. He had not only contradicted the Hegemon. Worse. He considered contradicting fate itself. Fire seemed to flicker in the eyes of the village leader. A restricted, smoldering anger.

"Go," the Hegemon finally spluttered. "Think as you will. Tomorrow you appear before me to accept."

"Understood," Arxiphos said.