And a beautiful morning it was. The sunrays stalked the last patches of mud
drying them right before my feet. I could just see the bard's white peplum
gleaming between the emerald oak branches. I swerved off the road to
relieve myself as all the wine consumed in Beos was making me quite
restless. I took a little long so I was surprised to see white fabric
disappearing behind the trees ahead when I got back on the path. I
continued down until the road broadened to a small expanse, surprisingly
occupied by Orpheus and a young girl whom I had seen around Beos. Hidden
behind the trees, I could not hear what they were discussing but saw her
pick a small, seemingly heavy bag and follow him along.
And so they walked until the sun dove behind the distant blue peaks at which time they left the road in search of a place to stay the night. Myself, I chose a place not too far from them hidden in the shrubs, deposited my bags, and crept back until I found a suitable vantage point. I could see Orpheus pick up his lyre and begin a song. The girl was lying on her side with head propped up on her left hand, her face expressionless in its concentration. When he finished the song, he placed the lyre carefully on the rock beside him walked to the girl and knelt beside her. She smiled at him; he smiled back, covered her face with his right hand, and slit her throat with the left.
He had not done it well because she thrashed about for some time, her blood flowing black in the moonlight, while he slashed indiscriminately trying to make her still. Finally succeeding, he walked back to his lyre and picked it up and sang of the story of Bendis who died and was reborn as a goddess and a consort to the Horseman God – a half-forgotten ceremonial song intended to transform death into apotheosis. When the song ended, he propped his head on a bag and fell asleep.
I looked down at my body hunched in the shrubbery, shivering in the cold, unable to look away from the two listless bodies in front. I tried to will it to crawl quietly back to the place I had chosen for sleep, take the bags, and run back home, but it wouldn't. I fell into a dreamless sleep from which I awoke when the first rays of the morning sun tickled my eyes. For a while I lay still, drawing small staccato breaths, trying to recognize the strange feeling in my stomach. Then I remembered last night's events and turned around to inspect Orpheus's camp.
The bard must have been worn out by the previous evening's effort for he did not wake until the sun was high in its day path. I had crept back and returned with my bags and was now curious to see what he would do. When his eyes opened, his head lifted up and turned to look at the girl and then, disappointed, fell back beside his body. With an irritated sigh, he got up and knelt beside the body, inspecting it for the longest time. I knew I should have eaten the moment my stomach growled its morning protest and Orpheus looked up from the body snapping his head up like a wolf whose meal had been interrupted. I was certain he had heard something but he calmly returned to his unceremonious inspection for a while before picking up his lyre and bag and walking off in direction of the road.
I sat back in the shrubs with a soft thud. Now that I knew with certainty what had happened to the girls, I needed to walk back to Beos and advise its citizens. I knew Orpheus would not quit until one of his victims emerged a Goddess and, in turn, bestowed onto him the divinity he thought he deserved. I also knew that would not happen. Fate evaded those who tried to force her hand. For this same reason, I had to follow Orpheus and see the progress of his obsession with immortality. His was a more interesting story than any I had told. Gruesome and unusual, maybe a little unbelievable, this was a story I could sing into a myth. I could not go back home yet.
We stopped for a few days in Sevtopolis, a small but rather rich city about a dozen settlements away from the temple of Bacchus. Orpheus stayed at the palace of Seuthes the Seventh whose forefathers had built and ruled the city. I slept at one of the smaller estates close by. The day after we arrived, he was again determinedly prowling the streets beckoning the attention of citizens and non-citizens alike. In the afternoon he stopped in the center square, as he often did, and a lull swayed the crowd. He plucked at his lyre, tilted his head, and sighed. Then, I heard my name drip from his lips, sound by sound, and flinched mid-yawn. In disbelief, I listened to him sing about how he met and courted me, about our marriage and my death, and about my waiting for him in the shadows of the underworld. Clever. Though I could see him sighing sweetly in the middle of the crowd, I knew that if I turned around he would be there, knife in hand, beaming at me. I wondered just how long he had known I was there.
But I followed him on in a sort of a desperate curiosity. His killings became more skillful as time progressed. Soon he was able to slit his victims' throats as expertly as I had once sacrificed my family's cattle at the altar of Bendis. Loath as I am to admit, sometimes I felt like an honorary spectator of his twisted new mythos. Few times I caught myself being noticeably careless in my stalking but he never showed any acknowledgement of my presence. Instead, his actions became more automatic, calcifying into a dispassionate ritual.
And so they walked until the sun dove behind the distant blue peaks at which time they left the road in search of a place to stay the night. Myself, I chose a place not too far from them hidden in the shrubs, deposited my bags, and crept back until I found a suitable vantage point. I could see Orpheus pick up his lyre and begin a song. The girl was lying on her side with head propped up on her left hand, her face expressionless in its concentration. When he finished the song, he placed the lyre carefully on the rock beside him walked to the girl and knelt beside her. She smiled at him; he smiled back, covered her face with his right hand, and slit her throat with the left.
He had not done it well because she thrashed about for some time, her blood flowing black in the moonlight, while he slashed indiscriminately trying to make her still. Finally succeeding, he walked back to his lyre and picked it up and sang of the story of Bendis who died and was reborn as a goddess and a consort to the Horseman God – a half-forgotten ceremonial song intended to transform death into apotheosis. When the song ended, he propped his head on a bag and fell asleep.
I looked down at my body hunched in the shrubbery, shivering in the cold, unable to look away from the two listless bodies in front. I tried to will it to crawl quietly back to the place I had chosen for sleep, take the bags, and run back home, but it wouldn't. I fell into a dreamless sleep from which I awoke when the first rays of the morning sun tickled my eyes. For a while I lay still, drawing small staccato breaths, trying to recognize the strange feeling in my stomach. Then I remembered last night's events and turned around to inspect Orpheus's camp.
The bard must have been worn out by the previous evening's effort for he did not wake until the sun was high in its day path. I had crept back and returned with my bags and was now curious to see what he would do. When his eyes opened, his head lifted up and turned to look at the girl and then, disappointed, fell back beside his body. With an irritated sigh, he got up and knelt beside the body, inspecting it for the longest time. I knew I should have eaten the moment my stomach growled its morning protest and Orpheus looked up from the body snapping his head up like a wolf whose meal had been interrupted. I was certain he had heard something but he calmly returned to his unceremonious inspection for a while before picking up his lyre and bag and walking off in direction of the road.
I sat back in the shrubs with a soft thud. Now that I knew with certainty what had happened to the girls, I needed to walk back to Beos and advise its citizens. I knew Orpheus would not quit until one of his victims emerged a Goddess and, in turn, bestowed onto him the divinity he thought he deserved. I also knew that would not happen. Fate evaded those who tried to force her hand. For this same reason, I had to follow Orpheus and see the progress of his obsession with immortality. His was a more interesting story than any I had told. Gruesome and unusual, maybe a little unbelievable, this was a story I could sing into a myth. I could not go back home yet.
We stopped for a few days in Sevtopolis, a small but rather rich city about a dozen settlements away from the temple of Bacchus. Orpheus stayed at the palace of Seuthes the Seventh whose forefathers had built and ruled the city. I slept at one of the smaller estates close by. The day after we arrived, he was again determinedly prowling the streets beckoning the attention of citizens and non-citizens alike. In the afternoon he stopped in the center square, as he often did, and a lull swayed the crowd. He plucked at his lyre, tilted his head, and sighed. Then, I heard my name drip from his lips, sound by sound, and flinched mid-yawn. In disbelief, I listened to him sing about how he met and courted me, about our marriage and my death, and about my waiting for him in the shadows of the underworld. Clever. Though I could see him sighing sweetly in the middle of the crowd, I knew that if I turned around he would be there, knife in hand, beaming at me. I wondered just how long he had known I was there.
But I followed him on in a sort of a desperate curiosity. His killings became more skillful as time progressed. Soon he was able to slit his victims' throats as expertly as I had once sacrificed my family's cattle at the altar of Bendis. Loath as I am to admit, sometimes I felt like an honorary spectator of his twisted new mythos. Few times I caught myself being noticeably careless in my stalking but he never showed any acknowledgement of my presence. Instead, his actions became more automatic, calcifying into a dispassionate ritual.