Intro

  Violet wreathed Polyhymnia, I beseech thee. May we sing a duet in honor of your mother? May she allow us to span back more than four millennia, to the end of an Age which we so oft call that of Heroes, when there were at least as many villains.

  Hearken to the bellowing of the Bull of Heaven, which was so violent that Astraea fled to a lofty place. Before the advent of Taurus, the Dioscuri reigned over a race that set the bloody precedent. But prior to the rampant bellicosity, Cancer had an argent, though impious dominion. Men were different then; enjoying an extended adolescence, only to age abruptly, and give up the ghost.

  The Flood of Ogyges brought that Age to an end.

  Alas, but we forget the oldest, and brightest. Before the Crab ascended, the Lion’s throne was golden. A young usurper drove Kronos to the lands of the Etruscans, but Time would go on to rule there exquisitely, and usher in that Golden Age.

  Ages, and cycles, and genealogies of power. Recall a time when Chaos ruled, swirling amidst dark infinity. Tendrils danced and coalesced, black arabesques that beget both Erebus and Night. And Night beget Love, Love beget Light. Erebus is the void, but the Light grew brighter. Eos was born, consort to the ancient and venerable darkness; harmony prevailed.

  From harmony, order; a coming together. The primordial waters parted, Gaia sprang up. She too had a consort, Ouranos, the firmament. The progeny of Ouranos were dreadful, powers inconceivable. Tremendous forces that quaked and roiled. Three were hideous, one-hundred and fifty heads, three-hundred hands; Ouranos hid them all.

  And the Sky beget the Cyclopes, and the Titans. The youngest Titan, Kronos, challenged His father for supremacy, foreshadowing His own demise. Ouranos was thrown down and castrated by His son. The fecund blood from His genitals soaked the Earth, and She was impregnated again. She would birth the Giants, and even worse, the dreaded Erinyes.

  Now Kronos beget the first godly generation, chief among which was Zeus, The Cloud Gatherer. Zeus sired a host of others, seven of whom would join him, along with four of his siblings, to rule on Olympus.

  See how Mnemosyne has more than heeded our plea! She has taken us further back than was intended, as She is so often wont. But now we return to that heroic epoch. While the sun resided with Taurus at the vernal equinox, the Bull had little time remaining as pontiff; the Ram was waiting patiently in heavenly wings.

  After the Flood of Ogyges, the gods beget a new race, weaker than those that preceded it, as successive generations fell further from the essence. Weaker than divine is not the same as merely weak though. Compared to the generations that would follow, they were mighty still indeed.

  Mighty men, but the better part was blinded by their pride. They waged war constantly, victory the highest of ideals. The Taurean era saw the science of Ares consume the entire world.

  Ch. 1

  In the twenty-first year of Aenicles, anax of Epirus. In the third month, on the eighteenth day, Aenicles’ eldest son Miones, Lord-Protector of Eleusis, led a third of his father’s forces against an invasion. The combatants met on the Field of Xadic, which was located three kilometers east of the sacred polis. Although the equinox was only three days hence, Spring seemed far away still; above, the morning sky was like slate.

  Miones stood upon Perinites’ Hill, a low plateau on the northwestern edge of the battlefield, in a midnight blue chlamys that billowed on the wind like violent waves. He was accompanied by Iaeiros, his trusted seer and advisor, four warriors who were his royal guard, and a handful of standard-bearers, who relayed directives. The more complicated messages were sent via runners, who would scurry down so as to deliver the commands.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  The High-Prince had ordered the standard defenses set, which included shallow trenches, and many sharpened wooden pickets. But these were serving as little more than annoyances, barely slowing an onslaught that seemed unstoppable.

  “Tell me what you see.” Miones implored of his wizened advisor.

  The two had stood in silence for a good while now, observing the ensuing battle; Iaeiros saw much further.

  “The Titanomachy wages on.” Replied the platinum haired seer. “Allegiances changed; alliances broken.”

  Another period of silence followed the seer’s words.

  “And what would She have us do?” Miones asked.

  Euros’ breath blew in from out over the Saronic Gulf, frigid and salty.

  Iaeiros pulled his sackcloth robe tight against the chill before answering, “We are to remain vigilant, young Kadmiloi, and to protect the sanctuary.”

  * * *

  Alkaios pointed left with his spear, and Diokles, his driver, deftly maneuvered the chariot in a sweeping arc. Now they headed straight for an enemy formation. Alkaios stood behind his fellow passenger, a hand on the man’s shoulder to steady himself, while he took aim.

  He sent his dory flying; the spear struck a man in the upper arm, whipping him round, full circle.

  “The spirits demand blood!” Alkaios roared, rallying the mounted soldiers who followed behind him.

  He took up another dory, and held it above his head, “For Nike!” He shouted with total confidence.

  One of seven Mycenaean archons who had accompanied the anax on the campaign, Alkaios held the esteemed title of High-Commander. He was leading a charge with an abandon that appeared almost reckless, but his confidence came from a recent epiphany. Four nights prior, Selene was fully waxed, and beneath Her gleaming eye, the High-Commander had participated in a hallowed ceremony.

  The rite was held at a crossroads just north of the isthmus, and had commenced with Aginai, youngest daughter of Iondus, and novice priestess of Artemis, leading out a fawn by leash. The child’s hair was pulled back in a single braid, and she wore the vestments of her holy office, a flowing black robe with a white ruff collar. She led the animal toward a large bonfire that blazed in the midst of the gathered Peloponnesians.

  Around the fire waited her father, her two brothers, and the other five commanders which included Alkaios. Also present was Damianos, high-priest of Apollo, and senior Mycenaean prelate. The fawn struggled desperately against the leash, attempting to pull away from the fire. Aginai bowed before her father, who nodded slightly in acknowledgement.

  In Iondus’ left hand he held a copper sica, the blade curved like half a crescent moon, gleaming sharp and true in the firelight. Aginai extended her right hand to her father, offering him the leash. He stepped forward, steadied his daughter’s tiny forearm in his powerful grasp, and cut the tether, freeing the fawn to dart off into the darkness; for the deer is sacred to Artemis.

  Then one of Damianos’ novitiates came forward, carrying two tan and white puppies by the scruffs of their necks, one in each hand. One of the puppies was relaxed, while the other whined and squirmed in the young priest’s clutches, as if it sensed its impending fate. Iondus was handed the squirming puppy first, and he summarily ran his dagger across its throat.

  The animal’s limbs went still, all but its little tail, which wagged on vigorously for a time. Damianos stepped forward with a stone bowl, collecting the blood as it leaked from the wound. The process was repeated with the other puppy, with its blood being added to the bowl as well. The prelate dipped his right thumb in the liquid, which appeared almost black in the darkness.

  Walking up to Iondus, he placed his bloody thumb to the anax’ forehead, smearing a red swathe down between his eyebrows.

  “Bull and Eagle.” Said the priest reverently, dipping his thumb back in the bowl.

  He then placed his thumb on the right side of Iondus’ forehead, smearing a line horizontally, which intersected the first line midway, “Man and Lion.” He completed the blessing.

  Damianos went on to bless the others who were assembled, starting with the anax’ sons, who also held the titles of archons. Pankratios was eldest of the two, while the younger was Antiphoebus. Next came the other five archons, and Alkaios was first among them.

  When the prelate placed his wet thumb to Alkaios’ brow, it was as if a palpable silence descended. Alkaios could feel that he was in communion with the divine. Tilting back his head, he breathed deeply the smoke, and the ferric odor of blood, which together were the sweetest bouquet to a warlord.

  Aginai began to speak, not in her usual, nine-year old voice, but a resounding timbre that was awe inspiring. So the Waxing Goddess enthused the child, and spoke through her, and the Peloponnesians were asked to commit an atrocity. But with the task came promises of glory and conquest; as such, a covenant was struck.