The Voyage of Heroes Read online

  I step into the cool marble interior of Aeson’s palace. The circular foyer is flanked on the right and the left by wide stairs that lead to the second story. Above my head the foyer opens to the curving span of a dome. While Priam remains gawking at the sight, I pass through the foyer, following the sounds of conversation to find my brother in the central atrium of the palace. Within the atrium, beside a small indoor pool, Aeson sits in a plush chair nibbling from a platter of cheese set on an ornate, mosaic-tiled table and sipping wine with Polymele who laughs at whatever he has just said. I stop my advance momentarily at the sight of her long, sleek black hair and heart-shaped face. The sound of her youthful, mocking laughter at my many proposals echoes through my mind. The smile drops from her lips the moment she catches sight of me.

  “Pelias.” Aeson stands and brushes crumbs from his hands. “What news, brother?” He strides over – waddles over is more like it. Gods, he has grown soft. But his face beams and his arms open ready to greet me. I flinch. I have forever wondered if Aeson has any inkling I slew our mother. From the broad welcoming smile on his face, I would have to guess not.

  Although I am glad to see him, I remain stern, rigid. I step back from my brother’s embrace, fixing him with a look of utter gravity. I work my face into a mix of severity and apology as if I hate the words I must bear.

  “The news is that you are under threat as leader of Illamos Valley and must be taken under my protection.”

  My leg cramps, but as long as I make no move to step forward, no one will notice unless they look closely enough to see the twitching spasm in my calf muscle.

  “You’ve never been good at delivering jokes,” Aeson says brightly. “Now, sit, have a cup of wine and tell me of Portaceae.”

  “This is no joke. Your son is plotting a coup to overthrow you. I dare say he intends to kill you and Polymele so he can seize power.” My eyes dart from my brother to Polymele who stares at me, her face painted with contemptuous judgment. I should kill them both. It would take seconds. A small nick just like the guard and it would be done. But no, I cannot. Not him and definitely not her.

  Cries from outside stir me from my thoughts. With a final sputter, the spasm in my leg calms. I march over and slide shut the door to the atrium, indicating to Priam to deal with the servant who surely has discovered the guard is in fact not sleeping. I then turn back to Aeson and my sister-in-law. “Jason has convinced an army of vigiles that you plan to rob him of his birthright, that you intend to make another your heir. Have you done anything to give him this idea?”

  “I, well,” Aeson stammers and glances guiltily to Polymele. “That is we both have encouraged him. He’s such an indecisive boy, you see, always looking to others for an opinion. We told him he should use his cousin, Odysseus, as his role model. I’ve wrote to you of him; he’s quite good at his job. We encouraged Jason to bring Odysseus back with him from Portaceae to serve here. I didn’t think I needed to spell out that it was only as an advisor.”

  I thank Ares for Aeson’s lack of clarity. It allows my lie fall right into place.

  Odysseus was born as a bastard to Polymele’s younger sister Anticlea and an arborist named Laertes. Although he never wed her, Laertes did desert his squalid home to move into Anticlea’s villa that perched over one of the most productive vineyards in Osteria. Had Laertes been a loyal and faithful man, Odysseus’s bastard birth may have been overlooked as common law marriage took effect once the couple had been together for six years. But when Anticlea fell ill and Laertes abandoned her, Odysseus’s status was dragged into the sludge that drains from the public toilets. To no fault of his own, Odysseus, who should have been second-in-line to the Illamosian throne, had toppled far out the Valley’s line of succession. Soon after Anticlea’s illness claimed her life, Polymele and Aeson took in their nephew. Ever kind-hearted, Aeson elevated Odysseus to commander of the Illamosian vigiles, a position that should have automatically gone to Jason. Had Jason been a more ambitious man, he would have opposed the decision the moment it was made.

  I gaze thoughtfully at my brother. I indicate him to sit as I pull up a straight-backed wooden chair and take a seat across from him. “I’m afraid the prince has taken that to mean you want Odysseus as more than a mentor.”

  I know Aeson. The foolish and trusting man has always looked up to me even though I am younger than him. He will be easily convinced, but Polymele might be shrewd enough to see any hole in my story. I glance at her, scanning her blank expression for any sign of doubt.

  “Jason isn’t capable of treachery,” she says. True, from what I hear, the boy couldn’t find his way out of an open wine cask. He’s not stupid, but he’s inherited his father’s willingness to trust and has never been encouraged to think for himself or to be clever. Still, best to let Polymele think she has been mistaken about her only son.

  “We all know mothers can be blind to their children’s faults,” I say sagely. “He may not have come up with the idea himself. He has a band of vigiles who have bound themselves to him. Who knows? It could have been one of them who gave him the idea. And if you don’t believe your son capable of treachery, he has included Odysseus among that band. No doubt using his role model as long as he needs him and then doing away with him as soon as he secures his seat on the throne.”

  Neither parent makes any argument for or against their son. I let the air hang heavy with this news, allowing it to seep in for a few moments before I continue.

  “Now, I have been sent to be your protector. I have the Osteria Council behind me. This palace has cells on the lower level in the opposite wing of the servants’ quarters, does it not?” Aeson nods, his face knotted with worry. I pat his fidgeting hand. “I advise you to take to those cells. We can have your things sent down so it will be no different than your usual chambers. It will be the safest place for you until this matter is settled. I advise you to hurry. These boys are bolstered by an easy win in Portaceae; they will be eager for more blood.”

  “No, we should talk to Jason,” Aeson says.

  “I fear these men he is with will not pause to listen to your words. I assure you the cells will be safest place. I will place my own guards outside them. And, I know this may be difficult, but I suggest you not occupy the same cell. It’s too risky for the future of Illamos Valley to place you together where you could both be killed in one blow. Polymele, I think my brother will agree that you, as the rightful holder of the Valley’s throne, should be in the deepest cells. The more space and the more guards Jason and his band must get through, the better able we will be to protect you.”

  My words are spoken with such sincerity, such haste and doom, that Polymele’s face has gone as pale as the cheese on her platter.

  “Until when?” Polymele asks.

  Until you give yourself to me.

  I know the thought is foolish. It is the thought of my younger self, the one who hoped she would be mine. But I am not so old that I no longer dream. And if she weds me, Illamos Valley will by all rights be mine. With a single vow I could have both Illamos Valley and Polymele. I will not lose my chance with her again.

  “Until I can subdue Jason and get him to hear reason. I promise, I will do my best to see he comes to no harm. He may just need speaking to and the Council has granted me that responsibility. You may gather a few items for your comfort, but please don’t tarry. Reports say Jason is approaching the city as we speak.”

  Two guards escort the king and queen to their bedchamber. I busy myself as they and the guards, who return laden with clothes, musical instruments, books and various other frivolities, descend to the underground level of the palace. Once I hear the locks secured, I call on Ares, eager to tell him the mission he has assigned me is complete and that I am ready to learn why I have just placed two members of Osterian royalty in their own prison. As I pass through the foyer to the stairs that will lead me to my brother’s office, the frail Priam attempts to assist the elderly servant with the bulky body of the guard. “Perhaps the heat
,” Priam mutters when the servant ponders over what could have taken the life of such a healthy young man.

  Once I’m behind the double doors of the rounded office, Ares appears in a flash of red. Everything about him speaks of a virile warrior – the helmet and breastplate that, although as perfect as anything of the gods, have enough nicks and dents to show they have survived many battles, the firm set of his shoulders, the strong line of his jaw, and the hawk-like intensity in his dark eyes. He is what every Arean strives to be.

  “Illamos Valley has been taken,” I say with a bow.

  “You went in blindly on my orders alone,” Ares says and I cannot tell if the tone in his voice is admiration or admonition.

  “You know I trust you. You are the only god I respect. Only you saw my worth when others thought I had none.”

  Ares strolls around the room with its walls lined with paintings, its shelves crammed with books and knickknacks, and its wood molding carved into stylized grape vines. His gaze is curious, but mostly contemptuous at the waste of time invested in these ornamentations. After he has made a circuit of the room he asks, “You know the prophecy?”

  “Which one?” I ask, but my mind has already flashed to my own prophecy. The one I received from an oracle when I was young enough and foolish enough to seek that kind of advice. I had gone hoping for an insight into my future with Polymele, but the oracle’s words left me fearing the girl I loved. Ares turns, looking at me as if he can’t believe I haven’t made the connection. Only through years of learning how to hide anything that might reveal my emotions when I want to keep them hidden do I prevent my cheeks from flushing with embarrassment.

  “The one that states a leader from Illamos Valley will one day rule all of Osteria,” he says.

  My heart gives a leap. I know of this prophecy that has always made leadership of Illamos Valley something of a sign of prestige and wonder. But Osteria has been divided into twelve poli for so many centuries that the prophecy, made soon after the poli split, has been seen as nothing more than a fable. One that is fun to ponder, but one that few believe will ever come true.

  “Is this what you have in mind for me? To fulfill some prophecy that has gone long past its due date?”

  Ares’s eyes gleam. There is something in his mischievous glances, his confident form, his passion that makes him even more attractive than he already is. I wonder how many goddesses, mortals and nymphs he has longing for him.

  “Yes, of course. You have proven the most worthy, most cunning, most ruthless commander I have ever come across. I’ve waited ages for someone like you to come along. You will establish your rule here, make the Valleymen as Arean as they can be. Once that is done, we will make the prophecy come true by spreading our reach into the other poli. After that, the prophecy will become self-fulfilling. And once you are leader of all of Osteria, who will you chose as your patron god, as Osteria’s only god?”

  Ah, so this is the heart of it. A small part of me, the part that was raised to honor all the gods, balks. But the hesitation lasts less than a heartbeat. I know too much of the gods. I know my father, Poseidon, left me a bastard and never once looked back, never once helped me. Only Ares did that after I had been shoved away from my polis, from the brother I’d been raised beside. Ares’s plan would put me above all others. If I succeed, I will rule Osteria. All of Osteria will have the order, the perfection, the discipline of Aryana. And Ares will rule Olympus.

  “You, my lord.”

  Ares smiles. It is not a smile of unrestrained joy – I don’t think he’s capable of such silly emotions – but it is a smile of pride, of hope, of certainty. And it warms me that I could be a part of bringing that smile to his lips.

  “Very good. You must go out and speak to the people. You seem to be good at making up stories mortals believe, so tell them what you will. Soon after, begin the registry.”

  “Yes, my lord.”

  I don’t tell him that even before I entered Illamos Valley I had already planned to start the registry, the system where every civilian must put on file his name, what polis he is from and what god he worships as patron. Most here will be Illamosians who honor Dionysus, but it is always good to know what foreigners may be lurking around. I have also told my generals that they will not take vanquishers’ privileges. Not yet. These people must be coerced into trusting us. Implement new policy in small doses and these Illamosians won’t even notice they are being made into Areans. Once we have asserted full control, then the generals may take their pick from the best homes, the best land, and the best women.

  “You will also send a letter to your nephew informing him of the trouble his polis is in. He will come running to help and you can do away with him however you see fit.”

  I will be more than glad to see Jason dead. To others he may only be an Illamosian prince with a reputation for slow thought, but I have feared him since Aeson informed me of the birth of his son. The Oracle, the one I sought hoping he would tell me how to win Polymele told me nothing of her love. Instead, he foretold my death, my murder at the hand of a descendant of the god Hermes.

  The day Aeson wrote to me of Jason’s birth, I knew, I felt it deep within that it was he who the Oracle had referred to. Who else could it be? Although a granddaughter of Hermes, Polymele is only a woman, hardly anything for an Arean to fear. No, it must be Jason. Once I am face to face with my nephew, I will strike first and strike fast. My life has dangled in the balance too many times for me not to think I can change my fate by killing him before he can kill me.

  “I will be glad to.”

  “Good. This is our future starting now, Pelias. You realize that, don’t you? But enough of basking in our victory. You must go speak with your people. Our people.”

  I think of grabbing the Staff of Dionysus to hold as I address the people, but decide it might seem too presumptive. The sudden influx of Arean vigiles has already stirred up concerns and as soon as I climb the rostrum a crowd gathers; the faces are a mix of fear and anger. The next few moments are a critical time that will spell either revolt or complacency. I must lull them in and make them want to accept me as leader while pretending it is a burden I do not desire. It is up to my skills of deception to make them fall under Arean rule without them ever noticing the change until it is too late. My vigiles step in to form a square around my audience. These are my swiftest and smartest men who know how to maintain calm in a crowd and how to take down troublemakers without causing a scene.

  “Hail Pelias,” the Areans call in deep unison as I stand at attention in the center of the rostrum. The crowd murmurs its way into silence. Although I want them to see me as a leader who will treat them well if they follow my command, I cannot blame them for their fear. Arean vigiles are renowned for our aggression, our ability to use force and our lack of compassion toward those who fight against us. Civilians rarely oppose us and those that do regret it for the short remainder of their lives. I hold up a hand in a deprecating gesture and compose myself. I will be sorrowful, I will make it seem that I hate what I am doing.

  “Today the Osteria Council has deemed it necessary I come to the aid of this polis,” I say, my voice oozing humility. “Your king has been remiss in his duties and, to preserve the integrity of Illamos Valley, rule must pass to me for the time being. Look to the north to see what happens when a leader fails to lead. Poverty, crime, lives at stake. You may see this as overstepping boundaries but it is why the Osteria Council was created: to oversee the well-being of all of Osteria.”

  “The Osteria Council was created to put power and wealth into the hands of twelve people,” someone shouts. I give an almost imperceptible twitch of my finger to the vigile nearest the rebel. A deft pin prick collapses the protestor. To all eyes, it appears as if the vigiles are helping a victim of this early autumn heat wave.

  “If all of you accept this change, you will see little difference in your lives. I am here as guardian, not overlord.”

  “Where is Aeson? Where is the queen?”
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  The questions are called out with concern, not aggression. Are these Valleymen so easily taken? I should have come long ago.

  “They’re—” I slump my shoulders and hang my head. I look again to the crowd, my face full of mock distress. “Sadly it is why I had to come. I should not tell you this, but you deserve to know the truth that has been hidden from you for too long. Your king is my adopted brother whom I love dearly.” Unfortunately this sentiment is not a lie; this all would be so much easier if I despised Aeson, resented him. “He is very weak both in mind and body. The queen has been strong these past weeks keeping his madness from everyone but now she is resting, recovering from the strain. You can see now why my leadership is needed. I do not enjoy my task, nor its reason.”

  “We need Jason. He’s the prince. He should lead,” a woman calls out. She too suddenly succumbs to the heat.

  “It is not so simple. I wish that it were. The illness is hereditary, passed from father to son. He may seem fit, young, the perfect princely image, but he too will suffer the ravages of this disease and we cannot predict when.”

  The crowd buzzes. Snippets of conversations that reach my ears include mention of strange behavior, the queen’s exhaustion, troubles in Portaceae, and several heads bob in agreement. Many still scowl but they can be watched. Any sign of dissention and a drop of hydra blood might happen to find itself in their weekly ration of wine.

  “If all is well, go about your day. Get to know my vigiles, my advisor Priam and his son Paris who already seems to be catching the eye of the Valley’s young ladies. Now, go and pray to the Twelve for your king’s health.”

  As I stride back to the palace Priam bustles beside me, questions bubbling like a broken fountain from his thin lips. Just as we reach the steps to the palace’s entrance, a welcoming cheer that carries my name rings from the agora. After turning back to wave to the people, I grin at Priam whose sweaty face twists in disgust.