Chapter Thirteen
Anya
A subject which I have already touched on, but would like to discuss more deeply, is mortals that have been transformed into gods. It is fascinating how little information we have on these strange creatures, just a few cases here and there.
⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯ Anton Ravenson, Codex Deorum Essay Four⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯⎯
Sixteen Years Ago
Dim yellow lights lined the street.
Fog drifted through the slums of Los Angeles, and the sickly light made it seem a smog. Neon lights shone through in patches, and in certain spots the red brick walls of the many alleyways were visible. A stench of urine and cigarette smoke sweltered in the humid air. The streets were slick with rain from the night before, and puddles appeared scattered through the concrete maze.
The sight of a human being was a strange experience; one couldn't be sure whether it was truly a person or just a passing shadow, formed by the shifting of the fog, and the glow of the neon signs.
A woman was walking down an alleyway. Her hair was a deep falcon brown, and it fell nearly to her hips. The dark locks were loose and as she moved, they swayed and twisted with her quick steps. She wore a tight red dress which stopped just above the knees. It was largely unornamented, made of simple red fabric, fastened at the shoulders with two lace loops. On her feet were heeled boots, fashioned out of black leather that rose up to the top of her knees. Her heels clicked loudly on the concrete floor of the alley.
She strode past empty, closed down shops, abandoned businesses, and solitary bars, with only a few occupants, sitting wearily at the counter, downing dark glasses of liquor in huge swallows. After a while, she stopped at the entrance to a dimly lit building and knocked at the door. Someone called from inside, and she stepped inside, and closed the door behind her.
The place inside was a hazy, smoke-filled room, with soft red and purple lights. There were mirrors everywhere, some in gilded frames, others hung without along the walls. Some were floor to ceiling, others the size of picture frames. On the glass there were hundreds of lipstick marks, mostly red, but with a small selection of other colors as well. Women stood at almost every mirror, applying makeup, and doing their hair.
There were men too, hungry, starved looking men, watching the women. When one of them finished their makeup, she would beckon to one of the men and lead them into one of the many rooms that lay down one of the side hallways.
They would always come back, the women first, holding a wad of wrinkled cash, adjusting their dresses as they went. The man would follow after, the hunger in their eyes almost always seeming to be increased. Each time the women came back, they would re-apply their makeup, and they would do it again. Each night, every time they returned from a room, they looked more and more exhausted, depressed, and irritable.
It was the look of hopelessness. The look of those who had no choice. Free will seemed meaningless here. All that mattered was survival. The pack of wolves would line up at the door every night, and the lambs were made to answer.
As the woman did her own makeup, a man knocked at the door. He was extraordinarily handsome, with black hair and deep brown eyes. He was different than the other men, it was obvious by his demeanor. He did not have the starved predatorial look of the other men, but a softer look. The woman finished her preparations and turned towards the man. She was new to the workplace, but she knew what to do, beckoning towards the man, she started off, but to her surprise, the man called after her.
"Wait! Come here… please."
She turned around, confused. The man motioned for her to come over, and she did so, gliding over to where he was. The woman stopped just a few feet from the man.
After a moment, he stepped in closer, slowly leaning inwards, his breath gently brushing her neck. The woman shivered, utterly bewildered, she had never begun her work before her client had followed her into one of the rooms. Stifling her discomfort, she gave in to the stranger's closeness, and tried to relax.
Just then his lips made their way to her ear.
"Anya," He whispered.
She jumped, stepping back, and snapping her eyes towards the man's own.
"How do you know my name?" She said, her eyes widening.
"Shh," His right hand touched her back, and she fell still. He gently brought it around her waist and pulled her closer.
"How would you like to get away from here?" He breathed into her ear, breath rushing through her hair.
"What? Away? What do you mean?"
"Away from this terrible institution to a place where no horrid men can hurt you any longer."
She looked around, a glint of fear fluttering in her eyes. Placing a hand on his shoulder, she spoke, "I'm still confused, what do you mean, go away? This is the only way for me to make a living, I have no family, no friends, and a criminal record, it would be impossible for me to survive out there."
"You have so little faith." He laughed, staring into her eyes.
"I've good reason, only just meeting you."
"But I've known you forever."
"How?" She breathed.
"I've been watching you for years, you never would have seen me of course, but I have. I know everything about you, probably more than you know about yourself."
She scoffed.
"As if saying that should make me feel better. I've just found out that a man I've never met has been watching me for a disturbing length of time, and he's telling me that he knows me more than I do? What do you want from me?"
"I want you to come with me. To my house. I can pay for whatever you need… or want for that matter."
"To your house? You expect that kind of trust from me, after one conversation?"
"Come with me for a moment, it can be inside a room here if you want, please, I want to show you something. I won't hurt you; I promise." He started towards one of the back rooms. She followed after him, fascinated, and yet frightened.
They both stepped inside the small room the strange man had led her to. All that was in the room was a mattress, a few lamps, and a radio. The walls were of blank concrete, unornamented, and grey.
Sighing, Anya started to undo the tie on her dress, but the man held up a hand.
"That won't be necessary."
She looked up, more confused than ever. What did this man want from her?
"You're a strange man you know. Not like the others. They always look hungry when I see them. You seem— I don't know. You're just different."
He laughed and sat down upon the mattress.
"It's something I pride myself on, being different. Now I must show you what I brought you here for."
He stretched his right-hand outwards, palm up, and took a short breath. A small flame leapt up from his fingers and hovered just above his hand. Anya gasped. The flame grew, luminous in his grasp, and as it hovered, the small tendrils of fire fanned out, spreading, and spinning, forming a magnificent flower. As it grew larger, her eyes did the same.
"This power of mine is strange is it not? I was not born with it. I was a mortal once. I was once a king of Greece, a great and powerful ruler. But one day, I was transformed." He paused, letting his words fill the air.
"I became something greater."
He paused again, seemingly in thought.
"The gods transfigured me into one of their own, and I became a deity."
Anya stared at the flame.
"Why are you telling me this?" She said, shaking her head.
His fingers closed around the fiery flower, not even a whisp of smoke to say that it had been there. She looked up, and he stared into her eyes.
"Because I love you."
"How can you love me?" She asked, "You barely know me."
"I tell you truly, I know more of you then you know of yourself."
"I guess— I guess after seeing that, that thing you did, I have a slight belief that you might."
He laughed again, and he smiled, taking her hand into his own, and clasping it with his other.
"I promise I will never hurt you. Please, come with me and escape this horrid place."
She looked around nervously, and thinking about it for a moment, she agreed.
He gripped her hand tighter, and as he did so, the room melted away, smearing, and twisting like marbled ink. The world coalesced around them back into existence, and what replaced it was a beautiful room, decorated lavishly with lights, and gilded pictures.
Anya's head whipped around to face the man.
"You could have done that the entire time? Just whisked me off to this place? Why didn't you?"
"I wanted you to agree to it."
Her cheeks flushed, and she looked at the floor.
"That's awfully sweet of you." She muttered, her hands falling to her side.
"That's what I was going for." He said with a smile.
Two years passed, and Anya grew every day, more and more to love the man who had rescued her from her old life. His name, she found out, was Aeacus. The first few months, they had slept in separate rooms because he had wanted to make her feel like he wasn't trying to rush into anything, and that she wasn't forced to love him. But his kindness filled something in Anya's heart, and she fell in love with Aeacus quickly, her passion for him soon equaling his for her. And their feelings for each other blossomed into a exquisite romance, each one completing the other.
The second year of their life together, they conceived a child…
The second year of their life together, Aeacus left without a word.
It was the most alone Anya had ever felt.