It had been a long, hot summer’s day on the island. The inhabitants of that green jewel set in Aegeus’ sea waited out the daylight until evening rescued them. It was quiet as the fishermen slept indoors, and the goatherds rested in the shade of mountain pines whilst their flocks cropped at dried grass around them. The mountain pathways that led like arteries from their green and rocky heights to the brilliant sea below were quiet but for the constant whirr of cicadas.
Suddenly, a cacophony broke the silence. From up one of the mountain paths, a troupe of sweating, victorious youths of the village marched in procession toward the gathering place by the seaside. Men and boys, women and girls, emerged from their dwellings to see what the racket was about.
The boys marched past in triumph, each of them carrying a portion of a beast they had slain upon the mountain.
“We’ve killed it!” one of the boys announced to the villagers as he marched in the lead, carrying a great serpent’s head on the tip of a spear. “Our flocks will be safe now!”
Behind him, his fellows lugged the body of the beast as if carrying a newly-hacked cedar tree. They all grunted and sweat, smiled as they strained to carry the body of the titanic serpent over their shoulders, all except one last youth beyond the tail. He walked slowly, and last, tears in his eyes which he would not have shown the world as he carried the others’ spears.
“Well done, boys!” some of the men called out to them, though the local priests wondered if the Gods might take offence at the slaying of so ancient a creature.
But the boys did not care. When they arrived at the teaching stone, beside the white-pebbled beach, they cheered as they dropped their grisly trophy and ran into the sea where the turquoise water turned crimson about them. They splashed, and cheered, and washed. They already retold and embellished the story of their hunt for the serpent, certain they would go down as heroes in the annals of the island.
The last youth arrived while the others bathed, and stood alone before the enormous, crooked piece of death upon the sun-baked rocks. The beast’s head, which swayed slightly upon the tall spear that had been plunged between the rocks, stood oddly apart from its blood-caked body. The black eyes stared accusingly at him, a thing to haunt his dreams for years to come.
He had not intended to be a part of the hunting party, for he had never had trouble with the serpent. His father was a fisherman, not a goatherd. While it was true that the beast had terrorized the village for a long while, eaten countless goats, and even a few wandering children, it had been a creature of the Gods’ design, with a purpose, a part to play in the drama of their island home.
No one else saw it that way, however, except perhaps the priests, and the old man who usually sat in that place and occasionally told them a story.
“Don’t worry, Daxeos!” the oldest of their group yelled at him from the water. “It won’t hurt you anymore! Go on! Dig your spear into its side, just once! It’s safe now!”
The other boys all laughed and splashed, and began to cook fish they had just caught over a fire on the beach.
The boy did not join them. Though it horrified him to look at the slain beast, he found that he could not leave its side. Its glistening scales of shifting brown, black and green still mesmerized him. He wanted to look upon it while he could, for soon the colours would fade as much as the descending sun in the distance.
Eventually the boys returned to review their work with some of the village men in tow, praising each other’s feats of strength and skill, bragging and patting their fellows on the back.
And all through it, Daxeos stood back, not hungry, not thirsty, not interested in the tall tales that already circulated.
The cicada song slowed eventually as the day neared its end, and a fire was built up around the teaching stone. The attendant villagers faded back into their homes, and the boys were alone again, unwilling to let the day of their victory end.
It was then that Daxeos heard the familiar trundle of the old man coming up the path to the stone. He stood and rushed to meet him where the path opened up onto the sprawling rock surrounded by seaside pines.
“Good evening, Daskale!” Daxeos said as he met him upon the path.
“Good evening, Daxeos,” the old man answered, stopping in the path. His old, heavily creased face smiled, and his sightless eyes searched for the location of the young voice that had come to greet him. He adjusted the skull cap that protected his bald pate from he sun, and his hands opened and closed upon the staff he carried with him always, tapping slightly on the rocky ground at his feet. “The news in the village is that you have slain a great beast.”
The boys about he fire grew silent, the eldest standing up. “We did! The great serpent is finally slain, Daskale! Are you not proud of us?” he puffed out his chest, and nodded to his friends.
“Daxeos,” the blind man said. “Give me your arm, please.”
“Of course,” the boy answered, and the old man laced his arm through Daxeos’ who led him across the ground to the rocky seat that jutted up amongst the boys. “Here you are.”
“Thank you,” the old man said, leaning upon his staff. “Where is the beast?”
“The body is near your feet,” one of the boys answered.
The old man was silent as he bent over, leaning upon his staff, to lay his searching hand upon the slain serpent’s thick body. “He is dead then.”
“Truly,” said the eldest youth. “And we shall be remembered for this great deed!”
“Is that what you believe?” the old man said, his voice suddenly curt.
The boys grew silent, and looked from one to another.
“You may have saved a few goats and sheep, even the lives of a few children.”
“But that is a good thing!” one of the youths protested. “My father lost many goats to this beast!”
“And mine lost six lambs last month alone!” said another.
“I understand that,” the old man said. “I also understand that now that he is slain, there will be countless rats and mice in the village. What then will happen to our grain supplies that he will no longer be there to roam the pathways of our villages at night to devour rodents?”
The boys were quiet, some angry.
“Daskale?” said the eldest. “Do you deny that this beast terrorized our village? Are you telling us that it was not bravely done?” His voice was challenging, tainted with aggression.
“I do not,” the old man replied calmly, rallying his patience for the youths about him where he sat upon the rock. “The serpent did both protect and terrorize our village. It was here for a reason, and so you must make offerings for the life you have taken.”
“We will all make belts from its skin,” said one of the younger boys. “And we will be known as the brave monster-hunters of Chios!”
The boys cheered at that idea.
“Well, all of us except Daxeos,” the eldest added, his eyes turning on the boy at the old man’s side. “He was afraid to even come with us, let alone throw a spear.”
“And were you afraid?” the old man asked the eldest.
“No. I was not,” the older boy said proudly.
“Were the rest of you?” he asked the others.
“No.”
“Was that because you were in a group? Did you feel stronger together?”
They did not answer.
“What is fear?” the old man asked, and in that moment, the cicadas slowed completely in their song and the sea’s breeze whistled through the pines about them.
“Fear is weakness,” the eldest finally said.
“Is it?” The old man straightened as he leaned on his staff. “I rather think that fear is the Gods’ way of warning us of a great trial to come…or an impending sacrilege.”
This last silenced them, but he smiled kindly, though he could not see them.
“You say that Daxeos here,” he placed his hand upon the boy’s shoulder, “was afraid to come. But he did, despite his fear. One might say that he was the most brave because he felt fear. Because he went with you nevertheless.”
“Pssht!” the eldest scoffed.
“I knew a man once who felt great fear. Would you like to hear a story about fear, portents, and courage?”
“Yes, Daskale!” they all replied, for they never missed an opportunity for one of the old man’s tales when he offered.
“Very well then,” he said as they gathered around him in the fading sunlight as the sea lapped at the shore of the beach nearby. He closed his eyes as he searched his mind for the memories, felt the wind upon his face, gently rustling the boughs of pine about them.
“Let me tell you of one hero who lived with fear, but who found the courage to overcome it…”