Serpent Goddess: The Horse Lords Book 1 Page 11

  The fierce barking became a roar of fury and aggression. Some instinct took hold of Sava and he roared back, bellowing a battle challenge. The animal’s roar turned into a howl. A howl of pain that ululated with anguish, then went silent. He moved on, right hand feeling, trailing along the clammy stone wall.

  Hoot – hoot. Hoot-hoot.

  An owl, messenger of Death.

  Piercing screams stopped him in his tracks. Human screams. The keening wails of people who had lost the last vestige of self restraint. Crying, sobbing, grunting, pounding and hammering on the walls and floor of the labyrinth. Crazed entities ready to jump him in the darkness.

  Screams of the mad. Anything could happen in this den of misery and madness. Mata Drakaina protect me.

  Running footsteps resounded behind him, coming up fast. Sava pressed himself against the wall just as a black figure barreled past. For a fleeting moment it leered in his face. The face of the Gorgon, Ancient of Days glared into his eyes. Then it was gone. Sava’s breath escaped his breast. His heart galloped.

  Stay calm. That was a mask. The Nekromanteion is staged. Tricks of the Mind.

  An anguished sobbing pierced his consciousness. A woman was crying as if her heart was cracking. The sounds came from an open door. He gazed into the shadows of a small room lit by a tiny flickering oil lamp.

  A woman knelt over the body of a child, caressing its cheek. Lifting the child’s head she gazed into sightless eyes. Reverently kissing the child’s forehead she murmured:

  “I am broken. My heart bleeds. Come back to me my heart. Don’t leave me. Come back! Don’t leave me!”

  The woman gathered the child in her arms. Cradling it against her breast she rocked back and forth in anguish. When the child did not respond the grieving mother broke down completely. Wailing and sobbing she laid the child down. With her fist she began pounding the stone floor screaming and cursing the God of Death for the loss of her beloved child.

  Her screams split the air, in ululating, echoing shrieks. The distraught mother turned on herself. Her fingers became claws of pain and remorse. She began tearing out her hair. Long black strands fell to the floor.

  With sharp fingernails she raked her cheeks bloody. Tearing open her bodice she raked her breast leaving long bloody scratches.

  Watching in silence from the doorway, Sava felt this mother’s unremitting anguish. And in that moment he understood from his heart what it is to lose a child.

  He wanted to go to her. To kneel at her side. Take her in his arms. Wipe away her tears. Ease her torment. If only a little. But he had been instructed not to interfere.

  Goddess let this terrible sight pass from me. I could not bear to pour my heart into a child and then to lose it. Better to give up my own life.

  A hot mist blurred Sava’s eyes. There was nothing to be done. He shuffled on, the mother’s wretched sobs echoing down the passage. His sensitized outstretched fingers touched the second gate.

  A shrouded figure with no face asked: “What is Death?”

  “Death brings Eternal Life.” Sava’s voice cracked but he forced himself to control his emotions. “Drink not from the River of Forgetfulness. Drink instead from the Fountain of Life.”

  The second gate creaked open. Sava dropped the second gold coin into the Mind of Death on the tripod and passed on. The atmosphere was intense. Trying not to pant from anxiety, he walked on, feeling his way through the pungent, sulfuric darkness.

  I have got to find my way out of here!

  Piercing sobs of heartfelt grief cut the darkness.

  Is that a child crying?

  He looked into an open door to see a child cradling a dead dog in his arms. The child was crying and mumbling –

  “Don’t die Chalo, please don’t die!”

  The shock and unadulterated grief on the child’s face at the finality of his beloved dog’s death stabbed Sava through the heart. Images of animals he had loved and the intense guilt he felt at their death rose in his mind.

  Do animals have souls?

  Once more he felt a deep urge to console the child but this was forbidden. And so he passed on, deeper into the Under World. His lungs burned from the sulfuric smoke. The walls were dripping and melting. Strange images coalesced and melted before his eyes.

  Finally his outstretched fingers touched the third iron gate.

  “What is Death?” The voice reverberated against the stone walls.

  “Death is the Rebirth of Life. Drink not from the River of Forgetfulness. Drink instead from the Fountain of Remembrance.” Sava choked, his voice hoarse.

  The gate creaked open. He dropped his last gold coin into the Mind of Death and passed on, feeling his way along through the stinking sulfuric blackness.

  Shrieks of mortal pain pierced the thick atmosphere. Sounds of battle, screaming, grunting, swords clanging echoed down the dark passageway. Pressing himself against the wall he heard an anguished groan. It was cut short, followed by a thud as if a body had fallen to earth.

  Voices came from an open door. He peered in. A man and a woman knelt next to the body of a young man. The man’s battle tunic of iron scales was torn and bloodied. The body had no head, only a hideous bloody stump.

  His parents’ clothes were streaked with blood. Consumed by grief, the mother held her dead son’s right hand in both of her own, kissing it again and again.

  The father held an arrow poised over the palm of his left hand placed flat on the ground. He cried out:

  “My Son! My beautiful boy! What have they done to you?! Haides, Lord of Death I beg you - Bring back my son! You have killed not one but three! You have cut out my heart! - Ah! My soul has taken wing! Come Lord Death, take ME for I am but the Walking Dead!”

  “AHHH! - AHHH!” The grieving father screamed, repeatedly stabbing the arrow through the palm of his hand.

  And then Sava saw something. He dropped to his knees. The dead warrior’s face hung, floating in air, hanging there, watching his parents.

  Their son has come back to say goodbye. But consumed by grief, they cannot SEE.

  What stunned Sava most was the expression on the disembodied face. The face was not grim or sorrowful. It was filled with light. The face of a young man in the prime of life. Brimming with charisma. No sadness. No fear. Only a sublime vitality.

  He has gone back to the Light. The one who took his head could not take his soul.

  Was it Real? Staged? A trick of the Mind?

  Chapter 22 – River of Forgetfulness

  LIFE is Man’s Gift to the Gods –

  Pindar, Greek philosopher 520 BC

  It seemed a lifetime had passed by the time Sava found his way out of the labyrinth of Haides and into the Hall of Oracles. And maybe it was a lifetime. Or three.

  The acrid scent of wormword mixed with cloying scent of hemp filled his nostrils the moment he entered the chamber. He felt so humbled, so dumb struck, so drained he almost dropped to the floor and crawled in on his hands and knees.

  Mikon and Nikos looked grim. They look as stunned as I feel.

  Like the rest of the subterranean temple, the Hall of Oracles was lined with stone, making every sound resonate. A huge bronze gong the height of a man hung from the ceiling.

  In the middle of the room a very narrow, shallow trench about the length of a man, a hand wide and a finger deep was carved into the stone floor.

  Behind the trench the black-robed pythia sat on a tripod, her back against the wall. Her wavy dark hair was streaked with gray and rippled unbound around her shoulders.

  In her right hand the pythia held a laurel branch. In front of the priestess was a large wide-mouthed bronze vessel in which water glimmered.

  Behind the pythia was a life-size wall painting. It depicted a man and two boys struggling in the suffocating coils of two huge drakons. The man’s anguished face was cast skyward as if begging the gods for help.

  A priestess poured milk and then wine from large red and black kantharos into the shallow trench. The Hierop
hant lifted his arms to speak. In his right hand he held a spear, the butt encased in iron.

  “I am the Light and the Source of Souls.” He intoned in a deep echoing voice.

  Turning, he threw more hemp buds on the smoking brazier. Pungent smoke erupted.

  “Drink not from the River of Forgetfulness.”

  Drink instead from the Fountain of Life. The supplicants intoned.

  I am Death - I hold the truth of Life!

  Drink not from the River of Forgetfulness.

  Drink instead from the Fountain of Life! Came the emphatic refrain.

  For I am Life, Death and Rebirth. I am the crown of wings! The Hierophant’s deep voice reverberated.

  He tossed powdered wormwood on the brazier, filling the room with its aromatic odor. The Sauromatae also used wormwood. Sava’s mother said it enhanced her ability to see beyond.

  Drink not from the River of Forgetfulness.

  Drink instead from the Fountain of Life. The supplicants intoned.

  An uneasy silence reigned. Soon the dead souls would come.

  An unearthly shrieking rent the air. Two black-robes appeared dragging a large black pig by a rope around its neck. The priests bound the pig’s front and back legs together then flipped the screaming animal on its side.

  “Spirits of the Dead we give you wine, milk and BLOOD,” the Hierophant intoned, arms wide.

  Terrified, the black pig screamed louder. Its cries almost human, beseeching, begging for mercy.

  “Spirits of the Dead – I call upon you – Come to us. I give you LIFE.” The high priest’s resonant voice rang out. He brandished a gleaming ceremonial dagger.

  BOOM. The Hierophant hit the stone floor with the metal butt of his spear.

  BOOM! The sound resonated, reverberating against the stone lined walls, floor and ceiling. BOOM!

  A black-robe acolyte lifted a massive mallet. In a long graceful swing he struck the huge gong.

  CLANG! The gong reverberated, echoing on and on, drowning out the black pig’s pleading screams for mercy.

  Dagger in hand, the priest bent over the struggling animal. Gripping its snout he bent the head back to expose its throbbing throat.

  Sava swore tears streamed from the desperate animal’s eyes. The black pig’s shrieks rose by decibels, higher, higher, ringing – filling the room -

  And then stopped.

  A priestess caught the spurting crimson blood in a bowl and poured it into the trench. As the red blood mixed with the milk and wine she sprinkled white barley powder over the top. The same `powdered barley’ that was in the kykeion drink Sava was given in the anteroom.

  After dipping a small bronze cup into the concoction the priestess carried it to the pythia who drank it with thoughtful deliberation. The priestess gave a cup of the sacred milk-wine-blood concoction to the Hierophant and then to each of the three supplicants. They all drank in silence.

  Now as he gazed around it seemed to Sava that everything was in a state of flux. The walls and floor were moving, rolling, bending. The room he thought composed of solid, immovable stone was no more. The walls and floor rippled, constantly merging and changing into colorful patterns.

  Even his companions were not the same. Their expressions changed as if a mask had fallen revealing their inner thoughts.

  Hnnnh. Sava’s breath stopped as he glimpsed a serpentine visage ripple across the Hierophant’s face.

  A terrible scream and wailing groans as if someone was being tortured cut the stillness.

  “The Dead are here. Who do you summon?” The Hierophant asked Nikos.

  “I invoke the spirit of my father, Nestor, who was strategos before me,” Nikos said in a ringing voice, arms upraised.

  “Do you have a momento of your sire? Something he held in his hand?”

  “I have this.” Nikos held up a small carved wooden statue of the mother goddess, her belly big, swollen with child.

  “Rub your thumb in slow circles around the goddess’ belly as you gaze into the water.” The priest pointed to the bronze tub. “Concentrate. Picture your father in his life. Of him holding that statue in his hand. He rubs the belly as he thinks. Drink from the Fountan of Remembrance. Feel your father’s presence.”

  Nikos did as he was told. Suddenly he started.

  “I saw him! I saw my father’s face - in the water!” Nikos gasped. “I saw his face in a brilliant flash. Clear as day.”

  “Ask your question,” the Hierophant said.

  “Father I ask you - Should the Geloni join the alliance against King Darius?”

  The pythia on her tripod began to pant, her breast heaving. Face flushed, she waved the laurel wand and spoke, muttering in a strange masculine voice. The Hierophant leaned over, listening closely. When she stopped speaking the Hierophant’s gaze swept over the three men.

  “Do not waste precious lives trying to achieve vain Illusions of glory.” The Hierophant translated for the pythia. “If the Geloni join this alliance two great peoples will emerge from the fiery cauldron of war.”

  What people? Sava wondered.

  The Hierophant gestured to Sava to come forward.

  “Honored pythia, my people, the Sauromatae have taken an oath of loyalty to Royal Skythia. Great King Darius is coming with a great host to punish Royal Skythia for the invasion of Medea. What will become of the Sauromatae? Will my people survive the war to come?”

  The pythia leaned back. Her eyes rolled up in her head until only the whites showed. Her throaty, resonant voice reverberated -

  “I see two roads. One road leads to the House of Light. The other to the House of Darkness, the abode of slavery. If the Sauromatae travel the road to the House of Light, their descendants will roam the far boundaries of Mother Earth. The name of your people will change, many times. Most will not remember from what source they sprang. But your seed will go on.”

  Sava stood staring into her eyes, absorbing her words. The pythia gazed at him and through him, her dark eyes luminous, far-seeing.

  “You have another question Sauromatian?”

  He cleared his throat. His tongue hesitant. Then he asked the question which had long plagued him -

  “Who is my true sire?”

  “Uhhh!” The pythia’s back and neck arched, turning rigid. Her eyes rolled up turning white.

  “I see Him now…He stands before us, if only you had eyes to see…You have two sires. One of the Body. One of the Mind. The Sire of your Mind rolls in unrequited anguish. His spirit longs for justice in this world so that he can go on to the next. Because you have inherited His Mind you will never be fully accepted by your own people. But your mission is vital. Your people need you even though they know you not…”

  At the pythia’s words Sava’s brittle world crashed. He sank to his knees.

  Skopasis sired my Body – but - Sarpedon gave me his Mind?! How can that be? Sarpedon died before I was even conceived.

  But he knew in his heart – The pythia had struck to the heart of the matter. To the heart of my destruction. I am only one man. I cannot go up against Zoltan and the rest of that viper’s nest.

  Chapter 23 – Drakons of the Goddess

  A man omitted in prayer that

  Roman Emperor Domitian was the son of Athene.

  Apollonios said of this:

  ‘You imagined that Athene could not have a son

  Because she is a virgin, for ever and ever

  But you forgot that this goddess

  Bore a Drakon (Erikhthonios) to the Athenians’ -

  Philostratus, Life of Apollonius of Tyana, c. 100 AD

  Sava found himself staggering weak-kneed up the steep steps toward the light of the great temple hall above. His mind was deluged, submerged in images of suffering and death induced by the Nekromanteion. Yet he had also seen a great light.

  “Mikon, who was that man and two boys struggling with the drakons in the wall painting?” He asked in a hushed tone as they paced through the hall together.

  “That wa
s the Trojan priest Laokoon and his sons. He warned the Trojans not to accept the wooden horse brought by the Greeks. It was Laokoon who said, `Beware of Greeks bearing gifts’. He stabbed a spear into the neck of the wooden horse. For this Poseidon punished him.”

  “How did the god punish him?”

  “After the Greeks pretended to leave on their ships, Laokoon went down to the beach to sacrifice a bull in gratitude. Poseidon sent two sea serpents to kill him. When the Trojans saw the drakons kill Laokoon and his sons, they feared Poseidon would be angry if they did not bring the wooden horse into Troy. Thus the Trojans invited their own doom.”

  Mikon paused to bow, palm over heart at the feet of the towering statue of Athene. The Geloni arkhon placed ten gold coins in a basket. Looking up toward Athene’s towering face he raised his hands high and prayed:

  “Hail Athene Nike, daughter of Great Zeus Thunderer. Goddess of wisdom, skill and victory in battle, we beseech your aid. In your sublime wisdom, show us the way to resist Darius!”

  Sava studied the colossal statue embossed with bronze, ivory and gold. In her right hand she held a tall spear. At her feet a large python was coiled, head erect.

  “What is that?” Sava pointed to the python.

  “That is the drakon Erikhthonios, a founder of Athens. Erikhthonios taught the Greeks to yoke horses to a chariot and to farm the land with a plow. Before him the drakon demigod Kecrops ruled Athens. Kecrops means `man with a tail’ in Greek. Kecrops was autochthonous, earth-born, half man, half snake. He taught Greeks the arts of reading and writing.”

  Seeing with new eyes, Sava noticed the goddess was literally crawling with serpents. Multitudes of serpents circled Athena’s bodice. “Strange is it not, this belief that serpents were the teachers of men?”

  “Indeed it is a great mystery. No one in my day has ever seen these serpent men, yet our legends say they existed. The Egyptians also worship serpents.” Mikon replied.

  “That face with hair of snakes on Athene’s aegis, who is that?”