Rite of Initiation

Soon all the villagers were gathered. Twelve torches were planted in a wide ring outside the palace. Arxiphos knelt in the center of them. The three sacred fires of Enypnia were transported carefully to the palace and burned before him, shooting shadows across him as they danced. The sun was setting, red. Vermilion.

The throne had been dragged outside, atop the steps. At its side, a smaller, padded, less traditional chair was placed. Alazoneia was ordered to sit there, but she could hardly keep herself still, clapping, smirking and giggling like a lunatic. Arxiphos looked up and smiled at her, a touch of schadenfreude in his heart. He wondered how she would react when he made his announcement. He would not marry her. He would never be hers. Never.

The Hegemon approached Arxiphos from the back, a razor in his hand. The ceremony had begun. Arxiphos heard the heavy footfalls. A nervous weight buzzed in his stomach. He felt the strong hand of the ruler grip the collar of his shirt. The thick knuckles brushing against his neck. Then cutting. The razor passed through the cloth. The shirt fell from his shoulders. Warm wind and orange beams of light from the torches licked across his bare chest and back. A hand on his head. Cold metal on his hairline. The Hegemon stood behind Arxiphos and carefully dragged the blade across his scalp. A thick handful of dark hair fell to the ground. In a few minutes, the Hegemon stepped away and laid the blade aside. The first part of the ceremony was over. Arxiphos passed his hand over his smooth scalp.

Next, a soft trickle of cool water poured on his head. Liquid crystal drawn from the Apista itself. It flowed down his face, his shoulders, soaking the torn shirt still around his waist. It started as a trickle but increased until the cascade splashed off him in all directions. Droplets sizzled in the fires. The Hegemon's robes were soaked, turning a darker shade of red as the water seeped through.

The Hegemon returned the pitcher to his servant and was handed a wide bowl made of baked clay. Solemnly, silently, he stepped before Arxiphos, looked him in the eyes and placed the bowl of black-red liquid before the kneeling man. Then the Hegemon pulled what looked like a black stone out of the center fire. He tore it in half, grunting as it burned his palms. Smoke, steam and chunks of charcoal burst from the burnt loaf of coarse bread. The Hegemon ripped out the soft, unburnt heart from its core and dipped it into the bowl of blood. The cool liquid soothed his blistered hand. Then he painted Arxiphos. The Hegemon smeared a red trail from the nape of his neck, over the top of his head, and down the center of his chest. Another streak made a circle around his head, covering his ears and eyes in blood. He dabbed Arxophos's rounded shoulders and let the blood trickle down off his fingertips.

Then came the painful stage of the ceremony. A metal sign of Enypnia glowed white in the flames. He had seen it from the beginning of the ritual and prepared himself mentally to receive it. The Hegemon lifted it out of the flame. Murmurs and muffled gasps escaped from the crowd of villagers outside the ring of torches as they watched the reverse symbol glow in the dark.

"Irreversible," Arxiphos whispered to himself.

The brand was in the shape of the river. An oxbow, a three-quarters circle, curving outwards at its tips. Through its center, a vertical line was drawn. An X crossed the line just below the oxbow, some say it marked the place where their ancestors had first encountered the goddess. No one knew for sure, however. The real meaning of the sign had been lost decades earlier.

He felt warmth behind him, heating the skin between his shoulder blades. Then a sting. Freezing. Burning. His shoulders drew back involuntarily, clamping around the brand. He heard nothing. He looked down and saw his fists clenched, the muscles on his arms contracted. Then the sound faded in, sizzling and a scream. He didn't know where the cry came from until the brand was removed. The scream was his own. Saliva dripped from his mouth as he fell forward onto his palms, breathing heavily, coughing. Then he smiled. That was it. His heart began to fill as he remembered Enypnia's words. Be my priest. And in that very act, you will be my spouse.

It was final. She was close. He thought he felt her hand upon him. He thought he could see the blazing jade of her eyes, the perfectly delicate form of her lips and nose. Enypnia was his. Arxiphos was hers in that very act.

The Hegemon smiled at Arxiphos and raised him to his feet. He stumbled. A sharp, sore pain dug into his back as he stood. "You are the Archiereios, Arxiphos," the Hegemon said quietly. The crowd was silent. He held a ring before Arxiphos. A light dusting of ash and soot still clung to it. They had dug it out from his father's funeral pyre. The ring slipped over the middle finger of his left hand. The Hegemon continued, "Priest of Enypnia, priest of the Apista, and my priest as well." He bowed, and Arxiphos returned it reverently.

The Hegemon turned his back on Arxiphos and walked to the throne, seating himself next to his squirming daughter. "And by this ceremony, I also grant you the hand of my daughter, Alazoneia."

She laughed and clapped her hands hysterically. The gathered villagers joined in her joy and applause.

Arxiphos straightened and stood stone still. All went silent as he spoke, "It was never my intention." His voice echoed and tremored through the village.

Alazoneia stopped clapping, but a dumb smile remained on her face. Her father started and shifted in his seat.

"I will not marry Alazoneia." He shook his head, then repeated himself, looking from the Hegemon to the princess and back to the Hegemon, "I won't marry her."

"You will," the Hegemon said calmly, softly chuckling.

Arxiphos eyed him in silence.

"You will," the Hegemon repeated.

"I won't."

"You will!" the Hegemon screamed and pounded his throne. The studded wood of the armrest cracked and clattered down the steps. "Grab him, Anax!" he grunted through his teeth.

The next moment, Anax and another palace guard held Arxiphos firmly between them. Anax gave him a hard slap where the seal was still sore. Arxiphos would have fallen to the ground from the pain if the guards hadn't been holding him.

The Hegemon flew down the steps and put himself in Arxiphos's face. "Are you out of your mind?" the Hegemon spat.

"I met Enypnia in the woods."

"I guess that answers the question. You're insane."

"I saw her. She ordered me not to marry your daughter. I've never wanted to in the first place. I know she loves me, but I've never returned her love."

The princess sunk into her seat, leaning back for the first time since she arrived. Her hands and bottom lip trembled, and Arxiphos watched the tears begin. A dramatic change. Total loss of composure.

Arxiphos continued, "Was I never allowed to choose differently?"

"It is your duty to follow tradition."

"Tradition was set for the sake of the goddess. The goddess is asking something different. She asked me to be her spouse."

"You've lost your mind," the Hegemon muttered, his face white with rage. "And you've disturbed my daughter." He turned toward the steps and watched his daughter shudder. "Do you still want him, dear? He's insane."

"More than the world itself," was her feeble reply.

"That's a lie," Arxiphos said, mainly to himself.

The Hegemon struck him hard across the face with his heavy fist, and immediately Arxiphos's brow and cheek began to bleed. The place where he was hit was white and then began to speckle red and blue.

"Father!" Alazoneia cried. She stood and ran to them. "Don't hit his face. I need that." She placed her cold delicate fingers on Arxiphos's chest. "I need him."

"Get off me," Arxiphos growled. "I belong to another."

The Hegemon leaned in close so only Arxiphos could hear. "You're lucky she wants you," he rasped to the priest, "or I'd kill you right here." He turned and strutted back to his place on the steps, dragging his daughter behind him.

"Bring the block!" the Hegemon cried. The crowd gasped. Some screamed and yelled. Palace guards moved into the ring. "We'll make him agree. We'll make him follow."

They rolled a thick log into the ring of torches and tipped it on its flat end. The other flat side reached Arxiphos's waist.

"You marry my daughter or die, Arxiphos." The ultimatum was bellowed for all to hear.

"I disobey you, Hegemon, because of a higher authority. My union with Enypnia is respected by Olympus itself. She told me so."

"Blasphemy!" yelled the Hegemon. "There is no need to pile further accusation on your own head, son. Marry or die."

"I won't marry Alazoneia, and I don't believe you'll kill me."

"Oh. You call me weak before my people and assume I won't kill? Let me prove it to you, Arxiphos. Anax, draw your knife." Another guard came to hold Arxiphos while Anax showed him a long, thick blade.

"Pin his hand to the block," the Hegemon ordered. "We'll start small."

The princess squealed at his side, "Don't mutilate him. He'll be useless after that. You think I want a cripple?"

"Tell me, Alazoneia, do you want part of him or none?"

"All of him," she said.

"You'll have to be content with part." He watched for her response.

She considered it for a moment, then nodded.

"Small finger. Left hand."

Anax spread Arxiphos's hand on the log and placed his knife between the knuckles of his pinky and ring finger. The tip of the knife dug into the hard, dry wood.

"Marry Alazoneia, Arxiphos."

"You won't do it. Enypnia won't let you."

"Remove it."

Arxiphos's eyes clamped shut. He felt the blade through his hand, but no pain. Anax chuckled. Arxiphos opened his eyes and saw the severed digit, lying limp aside, blood flowing. It took a moment for the pain to register. His vision went blurry and blotchy. Then it hit. He fell to his knees. Disbelief. The guards dragged him back up and kept his hand pinned to the block.

"Now you see I'll do it, Arxiphos. Marry her or next, it will be your head."

He blinked and shuddered. His eyes scanned the crowd slowly. He felt drugged and faint. His eyes locked onto Arktouros. The old fire keeper's mouth hung open, his eyes squinted with tears that ran down his rough, wrinkled cheeks. Apxiphos stared at him. The only friendly set of eyes he could find. All the others accused him. Condemned him.

"Arxiphos, marry."

"I won't do it." His voice was weak this time. Pathetic. "I won't," he groaned. "I won't," he whispered.

"Next finger, Anax," the Hegemon barked. "Remove it."

Arxiphos jerked and moaned. The guards held him in place. Anax pinned what was left of his hand to the log and cut through the meat. Arxiphos heard it clearly. The sound was what remained clearest in his mind. A crunch and a scrape of wood as Anax swept both fingers into the dust. Arxiphos began to cry. He had wanted to appear strong. But he thought his beloved would come to his rescue before anything like this happened. Enypnia hadn't come.

Pain and fear bounced in his head. He could no longer think straight. His eyes stuck to the old face of Arktouros, a face of sorrow, but of support. The Hegemon caught Arxiphos staring to the side. Following his gaze, he picked Arktouros out of the crowd and watched the old man tremble as he mouthed the words, "My boy. My boy..."

The Hegemon watched them interact for a moment. The crowd waited for his next command. He knew what his next move would be.

"Arktouros," the Hegemon called.

Arktouros straightened as well as he could and turned toward the leader. "Yes?" he said, wiping tears from his face with the heel of his hand. His bony arms shone white and orange in the flickering light of the fires.

"Do you love this boy?" the Hegemon inquired.

"I did, sir."

"You can help change his mind. Does he love you?"

Arktouros glanced once more at Arxiphos. The priest and the fire keeper eyed each other for a moment. Arxiphos dropped his head, leaning on the guards that held him.

"I like to think so, sir."

"Good." The Hegemon turned and whispered to his daughter. She smiled in return, straightening a little. The Hegemon spoke, "Pull Arxiphos back. Place the fire keeper's head on the block.

Arxiphos's strength returned momentarily as he struggled against the guards. He screamed at the Hegemon. Anax struck Arxiphos where his fingers were severed and dug his thumb into the seal on his back. Arxiphos cringed and drew back, a strangled cry still squeezing its way out.

Anax left Arxiphos with the two guards and took Arktouros by the back of his shirt. They pressed the old man's face against the wood, smearing the pool of blood from Arxiphos's hand onto his cheek.

"Face him toward Arxiphos," the Hegemon commanded. "Make him look into his eyes."

They turned his head so that they saw each other once again. Arktouros shook and paled. His eyes were wide and tears poured out, mixing with the blood on the log.

"Enough." Arxiphos called.

Enough.

The Hegemon smiled. "Have I won?" he asked.

"You don't leave me any choice. If you'll maim and kill the whole village for the whim of your daughter... then I'm left with no choice."

"Then you will marry?"

Arxiphos looked down at his hand, missing fingers, dark blood oozing from the wound. He turned his cut and bruised face up toward Arktouros smashed against the block.

"There is no other choice," he said. "No choice."

"You choose to marry Alazoneia?" The Hegemon spoke firmly, rising from his seat.

"There is no choice."

"Say yes, Apxiphos! Say you choose her. Say you love her. Tell her you are hers. If not, then watch the ax fall!" the Hegemon yelled. Anax smashed Arktouros against the log again. The old man cringed, tightening his thin hands into small fists of bone and stretched skin.

"Yes," Arxiphos said. "I will marry you, Alazoneia. I love you." He paused and sobbed once. "I'm yours." He looked up at her. She smiled and rubbed her hands together slowly.

Anax released Arktouros. The old man crumpled to the ground beside the wooden trunk, wheezing. The villagers watched in silence, some beginning to drift away into the darkness.

"Bring him in," the Hegemon said. "The ceremony is over. Everyone, back to your homes." The guards walked Arxiphos up the steps towards him. He placed his heavy hands on Arxiphos's shoulders. "I'm sorry. It was your own doing. It could have been so easy. But now you've made the right choice. Rest in my palace tonight. We will bind your wounds. Tomorrow we celebrate and put this behind us. You are my son. My son." He smiled warmly. Arxiphos stared at the ground.

The Hegemon's servants led Arxiphos into the palace. They washed the ceremonial blood from him, cleaned and bound the wound on his hand. Soon he was washed, dried and anointed. They rubbed herbs and oils on the bruises across his face, then laid him down to rest with Alazoneia. She slept with him. She had him. He was hers.