Land of the Fallen

In the hands of a God

Sea waves sing behind a tall cliff that overshadows a sandy beach with its glorious trees, echoing from the coast up to the holy temple of Apollon, where wisdom is sought. Whilst the sun shines brightly on a clear sky, the wind blows through the tree leaves, signaling a cold night to come, one that the people of Ikaria had prayed for after days of burning sun. Today is a day where blacksmiths, fishermen, teachers and all workers alike would take a break and enjoy Zephyros' cooling gift that filled the heated houses built of mud bricks. The fearful whispers of those of wavering faith arose.

"What if we offended the God?" "What if our roofs will be destroyed once more?"

The wise Oracle of Apollon eases their worries as she speaks in front of the crowd of hellenists. "Zephyros breathes with us today. I heard the concerns of a few Ikariotes, that the brightening Lord will punish you for offending Him without intent. He is with us to give us the blessings of life. Our forests and animals need the cold wind as much as they need the sun."

Once she finishes speaking, the Oracle turns to her right, where a small golden basin filled with fresh, purified water is placed on a simple marble stand, and a plain clay bowl next to it. Down on the ground, by the marble stand, is a bottle of fresh red wine. She fills the bowl with wine, then pours purified water over it, shaking the bowl slowly in circular motions until the liquids mix and holds it between both of her hands; closing her eyes momentarily. Her white himation* shook gently as the wind blew again. The Oracle then turns back to the group of Ikariotes gathered in front of Apollon's temple and begins to pour the mixture down onto the dry land. "Lord of the West Wind, husband of Iris the Messenger, bringer of spring and sire of horses, accept this offering from your holy palace in Thrace and bless us with your gifts!" Her emerald eyes now look at the sky as the last drop of water hits the ground. As her crystalline voice quiets down, the wind rustles the green leaves and wipes the sweat off the Ikariotes' skin. Through this alone, they realised the god has graced then. They all exhale quietly and close their eyes, each offering their gratefulness in a whisper or in their minds. It did not matter how loud or quiet they were - the Gods were always listening.

The worries of the few Ikariotes eased. The Anemoi* God had accepted their offering, so there is no fearing his wrath. Smiling now, some turned around and walked back to their houses. Only the pious and curious remain, awaiting the wisdom that the Oracle may deliver to them. Although young, no older than seventeen springs, she was the one chosen by the God of the Sun, Apollon, to deliver His prophecies and wisdom to the Ikariotes. Only one person on the island of Ikaria is above the Oracle, but even he listens to her. Known as Delia to the family who raised her, the young woman abandoned any trace of a normal life in order to dedicate herself to Apollon as a priestess. Her devotion at the temple was met with admiration by the God, who showed Himself in her and His priest's dreams, renaming her Dahlia and giving her the title of Oracle. It was only past her fifteenth spring that this happened, making her the youngest Oracle on the island so far. Always known for being soft spoken and sweet as the nectar flowers, the role of the all-knowing Oracle, caring as an older sister, suits her. To have eased the Ikariotes' worries brings her happiness. Dahlia does not blame their fear, as once she too feared every move the Gods made, except for Apollon's. It was Him who taught her to read the signs and to communicate with the pantheon; she understood that the Gods could love mortals as much as mortals love Them.

The priest of the holy temple begins reciting prayers for the Olympians once the Oracle retreats into the pronaos*. She leans against one of the columns and listens to the priest, then begins to hum once one of the priestesses starts accompanying him with a lyre. The sound is soothing to anyone who is blessed to hear it played by one of Apollon's devotees, as it is believed that He blesses every one of them with talent that cannot be compared to the average musician. It is the sound that plays in her dreams when He comes and speaks to her of futures so distant from this age and time, using terms that have no meaning to Dahlia. She desires the knowledge but when questioning the topic, the answer is always It is not your time to know yet. The young Oracle has learned how to read between the God's words and find true meaning in them, but she often wonders what He means by her time yet and although she has the ability to interpret and deliver Apollon's poetric riddles, this was the only answer that she cannot understand.