YOUNG WITH THE wisdom of age. Young with the wisdom of age.
The words repeat through my head like a priest’s chant as I rush back to my bedchamber. Using a candle for light I examine myself in the mirror. Grey mingles with my blonde hair making it look dull, pouches sag under my eyes, and wrinkles indent my forehead. How many years do I have left? What would be the point of securing the rule of Osteria only to die of old age a year or two later? I hold the cube between my thumb and forefinger. Such possibility.
In the mirror, through a crack in the drapes, I see the first orange of dawn drawn along the tops of the distant hills. How appropriate to begin my new life with the new day. The sound of the ram’s cries comes back to me and I shudder. There will be pain, but isn’t there always pain at the start of a new life? Tyro’s pains when she birthed me, the pain I endured when I embarked upon my new Arean life, and now this. Something nags at me though, something I feel I should notice, that should put me on the alert, but with a soldier’s ability to focus his mind, I push away the worry, telling myself fear will only hold me back.
I go to the bed where Lena sleeps. She should have left already to secret herself away, but here she is. It must be another sign that this is the moment and that I should not delay.
“Lena.” I nudge her. “Come with me to the baths.”
“Can’t we do it here?” she says sleepily.
“No, in the baths.”
“Something’s certainly given you a randy start to the day.” She slips out of bed and grabs a silk robe. My dagger, its blade sharpened just yesterday, is at my calf. In my hand, I clutch the cube. In my gut, hummingbirds seem to do battle with one another.
I say nothing on our walk to the bathhouse, my mind racing so fast with possibility that I cannot think of where to start. Several times I swear I hear footsteps behind us, but whenever I look back, even retracing my steps at one point, no one is there and I chide myself for mistaking the rapid beating of my heart for footfalls.
With the humidity, entering the baths is like stepping through wool and this thought again brings that nagging something to the front of my mind. But the thought is quickly lost as Lena drops her robe on a bench and reaches for a bottle of oil. The sight of her rubbing the thick liquid over her body arouses me instantly. I want to take her, have her straddle me in the water, but I stop. I think of how much more she will want me when my body is young and firm, how much better it will be to make love to her several times with youthful vigor.
Lena steps into the water and crooks her finger signaling me to come to her. I remove my sword belt and pull my tunic over my head. As the rough wool brushes against my face, the sensation I am missing something hits me once more, but before I can think further on it, Lena climbs from the pool and slides an oiled hand along my stiffness. She gives a playful laugh before jumping back into the water. I untie my dagger, unsheathe it, place it at the edge of the bath then set the cube on the blade before slipping into the water and relaxing on one of the stone benches that line the edge of the pool.
Lena swims up and straddles me, taking me inside her in one quick motion. I don’t know if it is the novelty of the baths or if she has been warming herself up while I undressed, but her climax comes quickly and the erotic surprise of it puts me on the edge of my own. I hold her hips to keep her from moving and briefly wonder if my young body will wake up hard within her.
She flicks my nose with her tongue. “Waiting for me to go again?” she asks as she tries to circle her hips. I hold tighter to her and she gives me a frustrated pout.
“Would you like to spend the entire day doing this?” I ask. Her lusty smile is all the answer I need. I explain to her what she must do. The smile fades instantly.
“I would be convicted of blood crime.”
“No, Medea is a witch who has trained with the most powerful sorceress in all of Osteria. That cube there on my dagger will give me new life.” I gently thrust my hips a couple times. “A new body. A vigorous body that would be all yours.”
“I’ve heard of similar spells, but never believed them to be anything more than stories,” Lena says, more curious now than wary.
“I’ve seen the spell happen this very night. It works.” An image of the ram pops into my head, but Lena makes it vanish as she grinds against me. “Do this and I will make you my queen.” She grins and asks what she must do. I explain, telling her of the cube, how she must use the dagger and what to expect. “There will be blood, but you must cut all the way so I can be reborn. Do you understand?”
She nods. I can tell she’s hesitant, but I know Lena is a daring woman; she will see this through. She reaches for the cube and puts it to her tongue. She jerks her head back with her face scrunched up in utter distaste. “Gods, that’s a bitter thing.”
I think of how readily the ram ate its cube as Lena puts mine in my mouth. My lips pucker and jaw aches with the bitterness. The taste is too awful to bear so I swallow the cube whole. Lena kisses me as if trying to sweeten my mouth, but the bitterness overwhelms my tongue. She takes the dagger in her hand and climbs off me to give herself room to wield the weapon.
“Are you sure you don’t want to,” she says as her free hand strokes my groin. I let her do it, but the cube’s magic is already fogging me to this world and her efforts have no effect.
“As soon as I sleep,” I say, my voice heavy with drowsiness, “cut me, free my younger self.”
Without Lena distracting me, the nagging voice returns. Images of the ram and the lamb flash in my mind. I’m supposed to see something. I can no longer hold my head up. It slumps forward and I think of Aryana. So many sheep in Aryana. Sheep in the market. Sheep in the fields. Even in the vigile barracks one learns too much about sheep in Aryana. My eyes drift shut.
The lamb, my mind shouts trying to wake me.
A trick.
I jerk awake. My head is almost too heavy to lift, but the knowledge forces me to raise it, to pull myself from the pool.
The lamb was a different breed than the ram.
I must get out of here before Lena can — Lena has fallen asleep, her head slips under the water. I must save myself. I must save myself, but I tug on Lena’s blonde-rooted red hair to drag her above water. My limbs and mind weighted with the drug I can do more than let her face flop onto the pool’s edge, but she will be safe. She will be safe. I pick up my dagger and tremble. Foolish vanity almost had this blade in my belly. Death was so close.
Staggering on wobbly legs, I drive my finger down my throat to bring up the cube. I sway as my stomach’s contents splatter to the tiled floor then stumble through the mess to the door of this fog-filled bath house. I give one look back at Lena. The drug’s effect was quick, but she had only a small hit and now murmurs as her head lolls about on the pool’s edge. She will wake soon. She will be fine.
Get out!
Yes, I must get out. Out of this palace. Away from danger. My hand grips the handle. The door feels as heavy as the lid of a stone sarcophagus, but I force it open. My eyes blur and in my blindness I trip over the lip of the door, the border between the baths and the hall. I prepare for the pain of a hard fall. Throwing out my hands I drop my dagger. Its metallic clatter sounds miles away. Someone catches me. I look up, ready to give thanks.
Odysseus grins at me. And then I realize this is the one. The one of the prophecy.
How had I not seen it before?
The descendant of Hermes.
The drug swarms my mind and muscles. I try to speak, to plead, but every piece of me is as limp as molten gold. From that distant land the cube has taken me to, I feel my body being dragged. Steamy heat replaces the cool of the hall. Then I am still. This is my only chance. I have to stand and fight. Feeling as if half the stones in Osteria are piled on my shoulders, I push myself to my feet. The room spins and when it stops, Odysseus is before me, my dagger in his hands. Surprise. I must surprise him.
I charge toward him, my eyelids so heavy I see him only through the narrowest slits. I crash into him. My belly goes cold as he skewers me on my own blade and pushes me back toward the pool. His free hand reaches around, holding me tight. He jerks the dagger up with all his strength. Pressure and then a release and then I am falling back.
A splash.
I float down as the ropes of my intestines slither from my body.