The Oracular Servant

Part III: Sybil

I reached the wagon as the moon was high in the sky. I looked around, and seeing no one their, I stepped lightly to the front of the wagon. I felt the front of the wagon, what I felt was queer.

"It's wet!" I said aloud, startled. I never saw water gush out to stop the wagon. I wonder what could have stopped it. There was a fountain on one of the side streets. But how did that water get from here to there, and how could it have stopped a big cart such as this?

"Correct," said a voice behind me. I spun around quickly, turning on my heel to face my companion in the dark. It was none other the champion of the fights, that old man.

I took a few steps back, and wrapped my shawl closer around me. I did not know what he would do to me. He stepped forward, and seeing me instinctively move back, said, "Do not be afraid. I mean no harm. I was hoping you would return, so that we can speak."

I breathed out, and narrowed my eyes. "You heard me, calling out to you as you left?"

"Indeed I did, though I don't think it was very hard."

"Do not speak to your elders that way!"

He smiled, "Oh, I am much older than you." He took another step forward, "Tell me, how old are you?"

"That is not very polite to say to any woman. But in order to keep you in your place, I am ninety-four years old."

"My place is still higher." He was really starting to get on my nerves. He stood confident. He did not look much older than me, yet there was a sort of ethereal quality to him, as if his skin sort of glowed. But that is all to the imagination. "I am four hundred and fifty years old. And how about you? The truth if you please." He smiled again.

I shook my head, and brushed the grey hair hanging below my eyes. Raising an eyebrow, I said, "one hundred and fifty." Great, now he is smiling again, I thought to myself. I said aloud, "Do you ever stop smiling?"

The man quickly turned solemn. He seemed to understand, finally, how disconcerting it was for me, "Paenitet*. I have never felt so much kinship with someone before!"

"Kinship? How do you mean? You and I are not related!"

"But we are. We each have strange powers, and we have had the same strange experience. And since then, have you ever aged or looked different at all?"

"No. But I find this hard to believe!"

"It is true. Did ever find yourself wrapped in white light one day? With this song playing?" He whistled the tune from before. It sent shivers down my spine.

Now I was eager. It seemed, then, that I was no longer alone. It was a wonderful feeling.

"Am I human?" I asked, tentatively, afraid of the answer I would be given.

"Somewhat, but you are something else too."

"And what is that?"

The old man sat down on the street, patting the ground in front of him. I sat as well, closer, but wary.

He spoke in an even more hushed tone, "I call it being an athànato**."

*Sorry (Latin) 

** immortal (Greek); in Greek alphabet: Αθάνατο