Thief

1.

Ikarios stood in his place by the altar as the high priest chanted the prayers in his sonorous voice. They were almost at the end; Ikarios carefully gathered a pinch of incense in his hand, ready to scatter it over the holy fire at the proper time. Though he knew the prayers by heart, he listened conscientiously, speaking each line silently in his mind as the high priest chanted them aloud.

The high priest took a breath, but the expected next line did not follow; instead, one of the other priests burst into the room in frantic haste. “Bandits!” he said hoarsely. “Leukippos saw them riding up the hill. They look like raiders from the north.”

There was an uneasy murmuring; some of the younger priests clutched each other’s sleeves or whispered to each other. The high priest frowned slightly. He did not stir in his place or speak a word, but such was his air of authority that the room fell silent. When everyone’s attention had returned to the god’s altar, he drew in a breath and, without rushing, recited the closing lines of the prayer. He glanced toward Ikarios. When Ikarios stood motionless, he cleared his throat.

Ikarios started and released the incense, letting it fall into the fire. Fragrant white smoke curled upward. The high priest raised his hands in the formal gesture to mark the close of the ceremony. Then he turned back towards the others, his manner changing.

“Now,” the high priest said in a clipped tone. “All of you here, gather up the sacred vessels of gold and silver and pack them up safely. Theokrates, warn the others, but without panicking. Ikarios, I will entrust these things to you.”

Before he knew it, Ikarios was handed a heavy, clanking sack. “Take it to the caves near the holy spring,” the high priest instructed. “Hide them well, and stay there.” His brows furrowed with concern. “These northern barbarians have no reverence for what belongs to the god. Now go!” For a moment, it seemed he would forget himself enough to push Ikarios’s shoulder, but he merely gestured urgently towards the small door behind the altar. Ikarios slung the sack carefully over his shoulder and ran.

Ikarios took a winding path through the woods behind the temple. He was out of breath by the time the sacred spring came in sight. Even in his haste, he remembered to kneel down and scatter a few drops of water for the god. Lifting the sack again, he entered the cool darkness of the cave.

It wasn’t difficult to tuck the sack of holy vessels out of sight behind an outcropping of rock. Ikarios sat down, his knees drawn up to his chest, and watched the faint light filtering in from the cave’s entrance. His heart was beating very fast, and he tried to calm himself by reciting the hymns. But he couldn’t stop thinking about what might be happening in the temple. Would the bandits steal everything they could find? Smash the god’s holy altar? Even slaughter the priests, if they couldn’t find the treasure they sought?

At the thought, Ikarios jumped to his feet. He was nineteen and a man, even if he had been kept sheltered as a chosen sacrifice. He couldn’t just hide here; if his temple brothers were in danger, it was only right for him to share in it. He nervously straightened the pleats of his robe, adjusted his golden girdle so that the tassels were exactly even, and whispered a quick prayer to the god for his brothers’ safety. Then he started back along the path towards the temple.

He had gone barely halfway when he rounded a bend in the path and almost ran into a stranger. They stared at each other, then the stranger laughed aloud. “So! I thought I had missed the chance at plunder, and here a prize falls right into my lap. I should thank the god of this temple after all.”

A bandit, Ikarios thought, and swallowed. The stranger was a blond barbarian with an unkempt beard and wisps of hair escaping from his long braids; he stood a full head taller than Ikarios and was far broader at the shoulders. He stood in a relaxed pose, one hand resting casually on the hilt of his sword.