My mother told me once that only evil comes during the blood moon. I wish I had listened to her; it would have afforded me a lifetime of pain and suffering. My journey began so innocently though that I thought nothing of it at the time...
I was traveling through the Mycanae province at the northernmost region of His Majesty's land to return home. Nearly a year had passed since I last saw my family. Little Miral had just celebrated her fifth birthday, and I had a son, Johnathan, whom I had never seen. My wife had assured me that he would be a strong man if the power with which he cried was any indication. She had further stated that, unlike her and my daughter, Johnathan had tufts of blond hair like I.
I still carry my wife's letters that she sent to me during my time away from her. Though the words have all been ingrained in my memory, I carry them in my coat pocket because they still bare her scent, but I digress...
Atreus, my home village, was a small agrarian village that spanned the length of a valley. The entire community could clearly be seen by any of the hills around its parameter. It's location made it an excellent spot for raising animals and crops but was strategically venerable.
Even before my squire, Harold, and I crested the last incline, I could see gray smoke rising from the valley. Being that it was the tenth month, I put little concern into it. October had traditionally been the month to slaughter hogs. The flesh of which were burned to make cracklings. Those fire pits would burn well on into the night, as this was a major export to outlying areas. The smell of burning fat was also a tell tale sign.
"Sir, are you sure that your family will not mind taking me as a guest? His Majesty was kind enough to give me enough gold pieces to stay in the local inn," my squire said, turning towards me.
"Nonsense, Harry, my wife will love you, and I am sure the children will enjoy your stories. Just be sure to keep them clean..." I said, my voice trailing off. In the length of our short conversation, we had reached the point were I could see Atreus- or rather- what was left of it.
I felt a great uneasiness rise within me... an inner sickness that stays with me to this day when I recall the carnage I witnessed in those hours. I dug my heels into the side of my horse and rode her hard into that valley. My mind so focused on praying to the Almighty that I couldn't hear any of Harry's comments. The beast that I rode was one of the king's finest- a gift of a true thoroughbred for services rendered. Looking back, I wish he had given me an old mare that would have lengthed the journey long enough that I would have been called back to arms. Anything to keep me from witnessing what I did.
The closer I came to Atreus the more prevalent the remains of a massacre became. Most of the main paths were littered with bodies in a puddle of their own blood. Bodies that were once friends and neighbors that I had grown up with. Some houses were burned to the ground. The remnants of which were still smoldering. But the worst...the most despicable of all the acts was what was being done to the bodies. They were quartered, skewered, placed on the fire pits, and left to roast like animals. The sight turned made my stomach turn.
Seeing that a handful of soldiers were still there, I drew my sword high and charged them. I ran three through on my first pass, and then chased those that fled like cowards towards the hill. They were no match for my steed on an uphill climb. Focusing on one of the murderers, I dismounted and placed the blade of my sword against the ensnared man's throat. Blood rage had taken over. My respiration was labored, my heart beating as if in battle, and the only thought in my mind was to kill every last one of them.
"Who ordered you to do this?"
The man at my feet began to tremble and whimper like a small child. "Do...don't kill me milord. I was only acting under orders."
"Whose orders?" I repeated, grinding my teeth together. I could feel myself growing dangerously impatient.
"Crycus," the man breathed.
My mind whirled as it made the connection. I knew of only one man named Crycus. He had been my best friend as a child, but had disappeared not long before I was sent to work as a page on His Majesty's castle. Surely he wouldn't do anything like this?
"Where is his camp?"
A brief pause followed. The man was struggling between loyalty to his master and wanting to live. I pressed the issue or should I say blade into the top layer of skin. Feeling blood tricking down his neck was enough to jog his memory.
"He sent a small band of us from his base in from Chaldea. He didn't actually come himself."
"Thank you," I said, smiling at the helpless man. Then, in the first act of rage I'd ever had, I pierced through flesh of his neck and sliced through to the main artery. I watched, disconnected from my self, as the sticky liquid poured out onto the crimson soaked grass below.
I felt a hand on my shoulder, but I didn't turn to see who it was. "Sir, I caught the last of the men. What shall I do with them?"
"Kill them. Collect the villagers and bury them." I said, leaving the pale gray body before me and walking towards my house in the distance.
"But Sir, they surrendered," Harry said, running in front of me. I altered my path to avoid him. He, in turn, began walking at my side.
"Don't question me. Just do it."
"Yes, Sir," Harry said. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for your loss."
I stopped briefly and saw a reflection of my younger self in his eyes. They still held innocence- the same one that I had lost that morning and would never regain. That morning, I lost my family, my god, and my country, but I didn't know the latter just yet.
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The outside of my home was exactly as I remembered it being. Timber connected by pegs, a thatch roof, small flowerpots with daisies growing in them, toys scattered around the parameter. The door though...an ominous bloody handprint was dried onto the wood frame just above the door latch. I felt an unfamiliar lump in my throat. My intuition was screaming at me not to enter, but I had to know. With trembling fingers I reached for the latch and lifted it up. The door swung open before me.
Nothing in my life could have ever possibly prepared me for what I saw when I stepped inside. I waited momentarily for my eyes to adjust to the new amount of light in the room. The first thing that I noticed was the floor boards; they were all soaked through with blood. The main kitchen table, right near the entrance, was overturned. Chairs, pots, pans, and blankets were strewn about the room. I stepped around them cautiously, my sword drawn.
My first stop was my children's bedroom. It was just to the right of the main living area. Pushing the door opened with one hand while preparing for an attack with my body, I was greeted by the sight of a small bundle hidden under a blood soaked blanket. With the point of my sword, I lifted the fabric off and tossed it aside. My eyes came to rest upon my daughter's ridged body. Her eyes were frozen wide with terror. Her hands clutching the rosary I had brought her for her first communion. A jagged wound was evident on her chest. I took no time to morn; I still had two people to account for.
After covering my daughter again, I went to the crib, noting that both my son and his blankets were missing. I exited the first bedroom, crossed the kitchen and living room, and entered my own bedroom. It was there that my worst fears were confirmed. My son was on the bed. His small body was unmoving and covered with a blood soaked blanket just as his sister was. My wife, on the other hand, was not there.
With no other rooms to search through in my house, I left it and entered my barn. There, hanging from one of the main support beams, was my wife. Naked, battered, bruised, covered in dried blood, she was hanged like a slaughtered animal. Her tongue lolled forward, her eyes bulging, but the most grievous of all her wounds was the gaping opening in her chest cavity.
"Lanna," I whispered. Fighting back the bile that had risen in my throat, I went to her body and cut her down. Removing the ring I had given her when we were joined, I covered her body, and left my barn for the last time carrying her corpse. I lined my family up side by side taking great pains to cover them all.
Once my gruesome task was complete, I walked out into the field of crops she had planted and fell to my knees. My shaking hands gripped onto the ring I held in my hands while my eyes looked towards the heavens searching for answers from a silent god.
That evening Harry helped me construct a funeral pyre. He watched as I placed my wife, son, and daughter's bodies onto the flames. He said nothing as I honored them in the ancient traditions. I prayed to Hades to grant them passage into the Elysian Fields, to the God and Goddess for forgiveness for turning my back on them, and to Athena, my patron deity.
He left me there to start a fire at our campsite. Somehow I felt I should honor them by standing guard until the last ember had fizzled out.
As the last flames began to die down, my attention was drawn to the night's sky. The earth was clouded with the red light of a blood moon. Religious zealots had always warned that it was an omen for darkness to come. I thought, quite foolishly, that it symbolized the malevolence of that morning when, in actuality, it was for the evil that gripped me.
I took my wife's ring from my pocket and affixed it to the silk cord around my neck that bore His Majesty's crest.
"I will avenge your deaths, my love," I whispered into the nothingness of night.
"Our meal is ready, my lord," Harry called from behind me.
Food was a necessity that I neither wanted nor desired. Somehow filling my belly when I had just seen to my entire family's last rites seemed incomprehensible and callous. But I knew that Harry was doing all he could to ease my suffering. After all, he could have turned on me when I ordered him to kill those men, but he didn't. He could have taken me into custody for killing an unarmed man, but he didn't. Instead, he stood by and watched as a broken man placed his family on funeral pyre and saw them off in the old tradition- a pagan tradition in the eyes of the current king. I walked the few feet to the campsite my squire and, in retrospect, my only true friend had set up.
"Harry, why do you insist on calling me sir?"
He gave me a confused expression which encouraged me to explain myself. "You've served under me for nearly your whole life and yet you still call me 'sir.' Never once have you used my name."
"Would you prefer I called you Lord Paris, sir?"
I gripped his shoulder, thinking this is the last I would see of him. "No, Harry. You may call me my Christian name, Tom."
"But sir..."
"You helped me see my family to the underworld. You helped me capture the parties that killed them. You're the closest thing I have to a son or a true friend."
"I'm honored, sir...I mean Tom."
I smiled at him. The boy had taken on a beaming grin. He regarded me for a long moment, his expression fading.
"You're going to Chaldea to kill Crycus, aren't you?" he breathed.
"The Furies will not let neither I nor my family know peace until I have killed him."
"Chaldea is supported by a century of soldiers. You'll never find a weakness in the system. Even if you survived and succeeded, the king will have you hanged for heresy and desertion when you return.
I looked at him with an unguarded expression. "I'm already dead," I said simply.
Harry paused, his face drained of color at my comment. Apparently he hadn't been expecting so much honesty from a man that had promised to be strong at all times for his kingdom.
"You're not thinking clearly. Give it a few days yet then decide."
I waited until he was asleep before taking my leave of him. I left him a parchment to take to the king respectfully asking for a leave of absence. I also suggested to the king that Harry was ready for his final test, and, should I not return alive, to allow him to take my place. Wrapped in that scroll was another written to Harry. I asked him to give me a few days to get underway before setting off for the main castle. Word spreads quickly, and I didn't need Crycus on alert.