Sparkling Ivy

40 - S1 finale

Sirce hesitated as the wretched girl stumbled away, face grey. What the fuck happened? She glanced over at Jason as Atalanta nestled closer, hand reaching for hers. 

The three of them just stared as Abigale hobbled up the alley. Her legs wove in front of each other, a wobbly grace only just keeping them from stumbling. The woman's hand was fused to her chest and a low groan sank into the dank stone. Her hands were splotched with brownish-red that dried out like desert mud in the bright summer light.

"Why...?" Sirce looked to Jason, gut twisting. The man shrugged, lips pulled tight. Those blue eyes revealed nothing. Even as he watched that mad scrawny wretch slump against the stone wall, chest heaving like she was taking her last breath. 

"She's a villain; don't bother feeling sorry." Jason turn his back with a grunt and walked away. Sirce and Atalanta scrambled after him. The huntress squeezed tight. Sirce swallowed and whispered, "Hey, it's ok."

"She didn't look okay." Atalanta scowled, featherlight words sending a shudder down the princess's spine. "He did something."

Not this again. Sirce ducked her head and sighed. Her lips pressed against Atalanta's ear as she hissed desperately, "Please don't do this. Please."

"Do what?"

The huntress drew back her hand. Her brown eyes hardened as she looked the princess over, nostrils flaring. Sirce pinched the bridge of her nose. Okay. Be tactful. T A C T F U L. 

"I just mean," she began slowly, "that at the moment Jason is our only friend here. We can't afford risking the one thing keeping these villagers from tearing us up."

"I hope that's true. We've never had much luck with men."

Jason led them through the small village to the edge of sweeping hills and a towering forest. The soil of Callkis was rough and even rockier than that of the mainland; sand was laced into every fibre of the land. The grass was the same as back home - tall, dry and hardy tufts. 

From where they trekked it was difficult to remember that this was only a small island. The town appeared so isolated, trees and cliffs and wilds on all sides. The mind expected there to be more. The eyes whispered that surely there was more civilisation, more towns, more anything. The closest they came was the tiny hut high on the cliff. 

Sirce fell into step by Jason. "So tour guide, where are we headed?"

The man smiled softly, any ounce of rigid cold nonexistent. "The temples. You haven't paid tribute since you arrived."

Ha! I expect something good this time. Not a piddly bird. 

Sirce swallowed and forced a smile. "I guess they just feel different here. Further away."

Would you like me to pay you a visit Sirce? Alcmene laughed. The princess shoved her voice to one side, fingers clenching on the peplos Jason had lent her. The fabric was silky and cool against her palms. 

"Believe me, they're here," Jason sniggered, running a hand through his hair. "They have to be - how else do they expect us to manage people like Abigale?"

Leafy trees shrouded cool shade over the three of them as they walked along a weather-beaten path. Small white flowers sprung out beneath moss-covered stepping stones. Sirce blinked as Atalanta jogged to her side and sprinkled tiny petals in her hair. They clasped hands for a brief moment. 

Just ahead the trees stopped abruptly, sunlight bathing a lush patch of thick emerald grass. Sirce paused. White-stone statues were erected across the fluffy lawn, faces and bodies branded with the classic stony heroism. The princess chewed her lip as they wove around them, eyes tracing the distinct ivory faces. Ecarus. Ion. Ganymede. "Oh shit."

She struck out an arm, pulling Atalanta backward. No no no, shit no. 

"Let's keep walking." Her voice couldn't help but shake. Sirce held Atalanta's wrist in an iron grip. A pit in her stomach tore open. 

"What? Why?"

He'll see me. Oh gods. Oh fucking gods. Sirce's eyes darted around desperately, trying to urge her brain to spit out some believable excuse, some excellent lie. Instead she made a low groaning sound and dropped her mouth open like a fish. 

Jason tilted his head and hurried to her side. He rubbed her shoulder with a small smile, brows creased. "Hey, what is it?"

Ummmmm... Sirce shook her head and looked to Atalanta. The huntress shrugged, almost as baffled as Jason. The young man laughed nervously, fingers rapping against the back of his neck. 

"Do you...not worship Andriel where you're from?"

"No, no. It's..."

Stop. Just lie. You're in his temple now. Respect it. Sirce drew in a breath and smiled. The corners of her mouth ached as she choked, "I just have a custom where I visit the gods in order. You know, from Xenia down."

Jason snickered and took her hand, head tilting like a loyal hound. "Well this is Callkis.  Andriel is our patron. So in theory you would start here anyway."

"Ha ha yeah..."

Sirce could feel the pulse of her heart at the back of her throat. Hi Andriel, please don't obliterate me. Pretty please. The princess glanced behind. Her lips twisted as she attempted again, "Still, I'd like to visit Alcmene. You know, since..."

"Since you're a woman?" Jason raised a brow with a smirk. "You do know women can have victory too, eh?"

"Sure." You obviously haven't met my stepfather. 

The temple rose ominously before them. Tall monumental pillars stamped with battle scenes formed an oval pavilion, white marble gleaming in the sun. A fresco of the victory god hung over the entrance, his body plated in slender gold armour. Bronze cauldrons filled with glowing flame lined the edges of the temple and women dressed in sheer gold peploses tended to them with glittering coals and cuts of pungent herbs. Here and there came townspeople with their hands clasped together and eyes turned to the sky. What do they need to ask for? Nothing seems to happen here. 

Two enormous sycamore trees were planted beside the threshold, boughs strung with crimson ribbon. Sirce shuddered as they drew closer. The trunks were each hollowed out, a circle of half-melted candlesticks glued inside. At the centre were piles and piles of parchment scraps, each covered in handwriting. 

The princess wrinkled her nose and peered at the burning piles. "What are these?"

"Prayers." Jason waved a finger over one of the yellow flames. "Curses."

"Curses?" Atalanta shuffled forward, eyes wide. 

"Victory doesn't care about cost. Only winning."