MEDEA

01

01|shimmering island

My earliest memory is of my aunt, Circe.

Every other woman I met in my lifetime faded into oblivion as time passed but she always stood out with searing clarity. Perhaps Circe's striking beauty and talent was a subtle nod to her divine parents, the sun titan Helios and sea nymph Perse.

On the small island of Aeaea, it was a midsummer festival that day. Harvest was in full swing and the hiereiai were busy with the preparation for the annual sacrifice to Helios. Servant girls toiled in the sunlit wheat fields and strung flowers across the marble pillars of city buildings. Excitement buzzed in the air like the dull hum of a beehive.

Not to mention every minor step was scrutinized by Circe, for the island and everything in it was hers; a gift bestowed upon her by her father.

It was almost difficult for me to look anywhere without being blinded. The entire island seemed to glow with an ethereal shimmer.

At sunset, Circe took my hand and we climbed the stone dais, the sky tinged with a startling pink and red. The crowd below us swayed in ecstasy, their eyes closed and mouths singing hymns to the sun god.

I was her favored one, out of all her female disciplines, despite being the youngest at a ripe age of eight. Her brother Aeetes' daughter, sent to her to study under the temple of Hecate. The sisters of Hecate practiced some of the most feared and advanced magic known throughout the Greek mainland. Bloodthirsty Aeetes would see this only as an addition to his royal might.

My task was not a simple one.

A boy knelt in the middle of the platform, his golden hair threaded with pure white mayflowers. He was blindfolded but otherwise free to move.

Circe stepped in front of the boy, her cream and gold robe whipping around her. From the folds of her gown, she pulled out a gilded scythe, the blade inscribed with runes.

Behind her, a golden shrine was laden with more mayflowers, gold and white for the sun god. As the high priestess, only Circe and her chosen could approach the altar before the sacrifice was complete.

The chanting became faster and more violent. Circe stood motionless for a while, bathed in a glowing light. She was casting, I knew, a protection spell on everyone present there.

She beckoned me with a slender hand, the nails painted a brilliant shade of scarlet.

I stumbled forward hesitantly and took the scythe, studying my victim.

This was the exchange: the life a human boy for the health of an island of only females. The scythe would trace a single cut through his throat and the warm blood would spray across the altar, appeasing the sun god. Eternal beauty for an insignificant soul.

Circe dug her fingers into my shoulders, urging me to act.

Maybe someone else as young as me would have cowered away, would have cried, would not have done it. But not I, I was destined for this. I had long waited for Circe to choose me as the benefactor and my time had now come.

I raised the scythe high above my head, my thin arms struggling under its weight.

The entire world held its breath, no other sound could be heard but the steadfast singing of the female audience. The boy was quiet as a frightened deer and shivered slightly in the cool breeze that had begun to blow.

I felt no pity for him.

The blade came down in a slashing arc and sliced his pale neck.

But not quite.

A piercing scream had echoed from the edge of the crowd, halting me from removing his head fully. The dead boy toppled over as I watched in fascination and his half detached head spurted blood like a fountain.

Red, red, poison red.

I was enthralled by the harm I had caused, the death I had unleashed.

The chanting stopped and a deathly silence ensued as everyone observed the lone woman who wore dark robes. Her bronze skin was bloody and her steel grey eyes wild.

Pasiphae.

Circe's infamous sister, married to the powerful king Minos and perhaps an even better sorceress, but on that sacred day, she looked demented, her body trembling violently. She dropped to her knees and raised her hands: a sign of supplication, a request for help.

But the moment had been ruined, the sacrifice was incomplete.

The charm would be unstable, the crops would wither away early.

Still my aunt compelled me to end it, ignoring the squirming crowd and the commotion Pasiphae had caused.

"Finish it," she whispered into my ear through clenched teeth. She brushed a strand of coal black hair behind her ear, smearing the blood that was spattered across her face but she did not seem to notice or care.

"Finish the creature."

Her hatred for men always seemed to be boiling over. Man after man betrayed her and so now she collected them as trophies, stored as disgusting swine in a locked pen. It is from her that I had learnt the most creative ways of punishments.

This time I did not hesitate, did not waver and his head came off with a loud thud and rolled down the steps.

The women wept, with joy or fear I could not tell.

Circe spread her arms wide. "Do not worry, do not fear, my beloved people. My protection upon us will be strong. Helios will grant us immortality and bless our island."

But her words did not stop the muttering nor the dispel the belief that the harvest would fail. The women eyed me with suspicion. I was an outsider brought to be trained with Circe. They suspected foul play from my side.

With doubt in their eyes, the women crawled up the steps and touched their heads to the altar, the ending custom to the festival. I stood aside, my chest heaving, for the death had drained me.

Circe and Pasiphae were huddled together at a distance, conversing in low tones. I strained to hear what was being said. Whispers of Minos, the labyrinth and an unwanted son reached my ears. Circe did not seem upset about her sister's mistake of ruining the sacrifice. She listened calmly to her story and then took the stained knife Pasiphae had carried with her.

She walked over to me and I felt my body tense.

Would she punish me for my slip of hand? Circe was cruel but I had never experienced it in person, and I was not eager to learn anyway.

But she merely took the scythe I had been clutching and kissed my forehead before leaving with Pasiphae and a few maids. They would conduct a purifying ritual for Pasiphae, washing her with blessed water from the emerald lake.

I felt like I had lost a limb without the weapon and more exposed with my aunt gone. Glares burned into my skin as the crowd slowly dispersed.

The muttering steadily became louder: the harvest was doomed and my lifeline would be cursed as long as I breathed.

A scar I would carry for the rest of my life.

Despairing and drenched in blood, I turned and fled into the night.