Chapter Text
His grip was slipping.
Pythagoras clung for his life to the rock jutting from the floor of the cave, while the whirlwind of the Furies pulled his legs into the air and whipped desert dust into his face.
Jason and Hercules were trying to get to him, but the Furies kept them out of reach.
Only his brother Arcas stood aloof, arms crossed, watching with the coldest eyes he had ever seen, eyes that matched his father’s.
Pythagoras’ fingers tore loose from the rock, and with a gasp he tumbled excruciatingly slowly upward into the storm. He closed his eyes as the tornado engulfed him and the Furies shrieked in his ears.
It was over. The best that could happen to him now would be for a flying piece of debris to knock him senseless so he wouldn’t have to feel what the Furies were about to do to him.
Jason. Hercules. He wanted his last thoughts to be of them, the best friends he’d ever had, the people he cared most for in the world, the people who had tried to save him even after they knew the very worst about him.
However, he couldn’t banish from his mind the image of Arcas, aloof, arms crossed, watching him dying with the coldest eyes he had ever seen, eyes that matched his father’s.
Pythagoras jolted upright. It took a moment to absorb that he was in fact in his own bed surrounded by a tranquil night. With shaky hands he began disentangling his blanket and tried to stop panting. He was at home with his friends, the Furies were no longer after him, Arcas had stayed in Helios, and it was all just another bloody nightmare. They were getting worse. This one had to be the most vivid he had ever endured. He had physically felt a sickening swooping in his stomach as he was swept into the maelstrom in the dream.
He’d been hyperventilating and now felt dizzy. Pythagoras sat very still and closed his eyes for a moment until the room stopped spinning.
The house remained quiet. Thank goodness he hadn’t disturbed his housemates. He was supposed to be over the whole episode with the Furies, and he didn’t want his friends to fuss.
Pythagoras lay back down again, and tried to get comfortable, but as exhausted as he was, he doubted he’d get any more sleep tonight.
Someone was calling his name and shaking him awake.
He had eventually fallen back asleep after all.
It didn’t feel like it had been for long though.
Pythagoras groaned and opened his eyes to see both Jason and Hercules standing at his bedside, looking concerned. “What’s wrong?” he asked.
“We’re wanting to ask you that,” Hercules returned. “We’ve already been to the market and to make the final arrangements for tonight’s job!”
“You’re joking!”
“No, he’s not,” Jason said. “You look terrible. Are you ill?” Jason reached toward Pythagoras’ forehead to check for fever.
Pythagoras waved the attempt away and sat up. “I’m fine. I just didn’t sleep well.”
“That’s what you’ve said for the past several days,” Jason observed.
“I’m fine,” Pythagoras repeated, trying not to sound testy.
Jason raised a skeptical eyebrow, but let Pythagoras get up and join them in preparing to guard a ceramics merchant’s storeroom that night. Pythagoras knew his friends would be watching him. He was touched by their solicitude, but right now he could feel himself blushing that he’d overslept so badly, and he didn’t want to explain about the nightmares. He went to splash some cold water on his face. That did help somewhat.
Right before he and his friends left for their night of employment, Pythagoras surreptitiously swallowed a dose of one of his own herbal tonics to give himself some energy. By the time they reached their destination, he felt almost normal, and able to joke around with his friends like usual. The night passed uneventfully.
The tonic was wearing off as the trio made their way home in the morning, their pockets a bit fuller than they had been. An icy wind needled the back of Pythagoras’ neck. He ignored it as best he could and tried to concentrate on the funny story Hercules was telling.
They arrived home. Pythagoras reached for the door – and stopped cold.
A dead songbird lay right on their threshold.
It looked just like the one they had seen outside the Furies’ desert cave the morning after Arcas had invoked them.
Pythagoras’ breath caught, and he shivered.
“What’s wrong?” Hercules asked.
“Nothing.” Pythagoras mentally shook himself and pushed the door open. The timing of this incident with his nightmares had to be coincidence. The bird could have simply been left by one of the feral cats that prowled the area, and Arcas had called the Furies off, hadn’t he?
The thought did not alleviate the chill spreading through Pythagoras’ veins.
The following morning Pythagoras woke early. He’d had an uninterrupted night but still didn’t feel anywhere close to rested. He forced himself up anyway.
When he emerged from his bedchamber, he was startled to see his two housemates waiting for him with determined expressions.
“All right, Pythagoras, you need to tell us what’s going on,” Jason insisted. “How many of these nightmares have you had?”
Pythagoras’ mouth fell open. How did Jason know?
“Come on. Sit down, eat some breakfast, and talk to us,” Jason said.
“If you don’t, we’re going to take away your stylus and all your parchments so you can’t draw any triangles for a week!” Hercules declared.
“All right, all right!” Despite his exhaustion Pythagoras couldn’t help a measure of amusement at the mock threat.
The three friends sat at the large wooden table in their main multipurpose room. Jason distributed pieces of bread and fruit.
“These nightmares of yours must be brutal,” Hercules prompted gently.
“Well, yes, they were, but I’m all right now. I didn’t have any last night,” Pythagoras replied.
“Oh, yes you did,” Hercules countered.
“You woke us both,” Jason added. “You were frantic, yelling something about your father. You would have fallen out of bed if we hadn’t held you.”
“Oh, no. I am sorry.” Pythagoras put his head in his hands. He’d probably been reliving memories of his father’s drunken rages and the beatings that had come with them, or possibly even the horrible night his father died. He shuddered. “I can’t remember any of what I dreamed,” he admitted, truly thankful for the fact.
“We tried to wake you, but we couldn’t,” Jason continued. He held up a small, and familiar, vial. “This was under your bed. You drugged yourself last night, didn’t you, with one of your own sedatives?”
“All right, yes, I did.”
“How often have you done that?”
“Just the once. It seems it has actually made things worse, so I won’t do it again.”
“Good.” Jason clapped him on the upper arm.
“Ow!” Pythagoras yelped, startling his two friends and himself. Surprise quickly became confusion. That should not have hurt.
His stomach clenched when he discovered a bloodstain on his right sleeve. Gingerly he pulled the fabric back, and if he hadn’t already been seated, he would have fallen over.
Etched painfully into his arm were two symbols. He recognized them as clumsy renderings of the letters tau and phi.
Pythagoras couldn’t breathe.
He now bore the mark branded onto murderers on the island of Samos, where he and Arcas had grown up.
“Don’t move,” Jason told him.
Jason and Hercules scurried to bring water, a clean cloth, salve, and bandages. Pythagoras finally drew in a breath, in a hiss at the sting from their ministrations.
As soon as the wound was tended, Jason looked Pythagoras in the eyes. “The nightmares, that dead bird on the doorstep – don’t tell me that didn’t disturb you - and now these marks on your arm… are you still being haunted by the Furies?”
Pythagoras couldn’t meet Jason’s gaze for long. He nodded.
“But Arcas called them off!” Hercules protested. “They should be long gone!”
“Apparently they’re not,” Jason replied.
“What can we do?” Hercules asked.
“Let’s go and see the Oracle,” Jason suggested. “If anyone knows what to do, it’ll be her."
The trio made their way toward the Temple of Poseidon. In Pythagoras’ case, it was wearily. Just this short distance seemed arduous.
The sky dimmed unnaturally above them as they went.
They almost made it to the Temple before the sound of a great wind rose behind them. When Pythagoras and his friends looked uneasily back, there in the street, brought to life out of his worst fears, whirled the Furies’ tornado. People were panicking, ducking, dropping whatever they were carrying, and fleeing.
“Run!” Jason yelled.
Pythagoras froze even as Hercules vanished from his peripheral vision. It was all happening again – others were in danger from the Furies because of him. This time it wasn’t even only his friends, though that had been quite horrific enough. Were the Furies so determined in pursuing him that they would obliterate a city full of innocents?
Pythagoras could not let that happen.
Just as he had in the cave in the desert, he knew what he had to do. For Jason, for Hercules, for Atlantis. He tried to steel himself to face his nightmares.
He had only taken one step toward the Furies before Jason grabbed his unwounded arm. “Pythagoras! What are you doing? Come on!”
Pythagoras tried to pull away.
Jason instead pulled him back. “Don’t you dare even think about sacrificing yourself!” he shouted over the rising winds. "Didn’t we go through this before? I’ll drag you into the Temple if I have to! Now run!”
Jason pushed Pythagoras ahead of him, and they both sprinted for the Temple steps.
The Furies followed as far as the courtyard, which they then began to ravage. Dust and debris flew everywhere. The Furies’ unearthly wails echoed eerily.
Hercules, Jason, and Pythagoras scrambled into the Temple. Almost immediately they met the Oracle and High Priest Melas, who were both hurrying to find out what was happening. The servants of Poseidon looked in horror at the Furies’ violent manifestation outside. Melas slammed the Temple door.
“We ask for sanctuary!” Jason cried, seeing that his friends were both still too breathless to speak.
The Oracle zeroed in on Pythagoras and his bandaged arm immediately. “I see that you are the one touched by the Furies,” she said without preamble.
“Yes!” Pythagoras gasped.
“They accuse you of murder.”
“It was an accident!” Pythagoras blurted. He hesitated, then told her what he could not when he had seen her before the trip to Helios. “I killed my father, years ago. I didn’t mean to! All I wanted was for him to stop beating my mother! He was terribly drunk again that night, and he said he would kill her! I tried to intervene, and he started hitting me. I was twelve years old and terrified… He knocked me to the floor, and then came at me again as I tried to get up. I panicked and pushed him away, and he was so drunk that he fell over… He hit his head on the edge of the hearth… He was bleeding so badly that we couldn’t save him, even though Mother and I both tried…” Pythagoras attempted to gulp down a sob. “My brother Arcas never knew until recently… He invoked the Furies… but then he stopped them, or we thought he did.”
“Yet they still pursue you.”
Pythagoras wiped his eyes on his unbloodied sleeve. “Yes! Why won’t they leave me alone?”
The Oracle raised her hands to touch his face, her fingertips gentle and maternal upon his temples. Somehow he found this soothing, as if she were conveying the peace of Poseidon quieting the sea through her hands. Maybe she was. Her opaque dark eyes looked kindly but penetratingly into his crystalline blue ones for a long moment. Then she stepped back, her expression compassionate. “Your brother did not stop the Furies properly. They do not understand why you should not suffer their wrath and punishment.”
“How do we tell them?” Jason asked urgently. “He doesn’t deserve this!”
Pythagoras’ head drooped, and not entirely from fatigue. He wished he could be as sure as Jason of his inculpability.
The Oracle lifted his chin with her fingertips. “Jason is right. It is not wrong to defend yourself and your family. Your voyage of the soul that I spoke to you of before should have been completed.” She then said to all three of them, “Sanctuary is granted.”
“Thank you,” Pythagoras said. “We are grateful.”
Everyone jumped as the winds outside crescendoed and several heavy objects crashed against the door. Had the Furies just flung some debris in a swell of rage? Pythagoras saw the question in everyone’s eyes, but no one voiced it.
Jason’s face then lit up with an idea. “What if Hercules and I went back to Helios and found Arcas?” he suggested. “He can still stop the Furies, can’t he?”
The Oracle got a faraway look for a moment, but then replied, shaking her head, “He is no longer there. I clearly see him passing through the city gate. You will not find him.”
“What if we did? Which direction did he go?”
“Even if you were to find him, there is another factor.” The Oracle turned to Pythagoras again. “The Furies have gotten a taste of your blood, twice now, and as with stymphalian birds, it has maddened them. They are beyond listening to any human pleas.”
"Then what can we do? There’s got to be something!” Jason persisted.
Before the Oracle could answer, none other than King Minos of Atlantis burst in from somewhere at the back of the Temple. There were rumors that the royal family had a secret passage from the palace to the Temple; perhaps he had just used it. In full blue and gold court regalia and his royal crown, Minos stormed in with almost as much fury as the Furies. Trailing in his wake came balding, doughy Cilix, also in court robes and the heavy gold medallion of his office as Head of the Royal Council. Everyone hastily bowed to both of them.
“What in the name of the gods is going on?!” the king demanded. “Why are the Furies tearing up the courtyard, causing panic, and interrupting important royal business?!” He rounded on Pythagoras, Hercules, and Jason. “You three! I recognize you; you’ve caused trouble before! I have more than half a mind to give you over to the Furies right now!”
“Your Majesty,” Melas put in, “They have been granted sanctuary.”
“And why in Poseidon’s name is that?!”
“There are unusual circumstances.”
“And what are these circumstances, pray?”
The Oracle closed her eyes for several long moments. Then she came out of her trance and said, “The gods have spoken. Your Majesty may hear the circumstances before long.” She then turned to Pythagoras. “There is a possible way you might be freed.” She hesitated. “You can attempt the path of Orestes.”
“Where’s that?” Jason asked.
“Not where; who.” Hercules, silent until now, answered dourly. “Orestes is the only person known to have gotten the Furies off his back without their summoner calling them off.”
“How?”
Hercules replied, still dourly, “From what I’ve heard, it wasn’t easy.”
The Oracle nodded her agreement. “Orestes had killed his mother in retribution after she had killed his father. The Furies pursued him until he took refuge in the Temple of Athena. The gods, who are greater and more powerful than the Furies, put him on trial there in the Athenian manner. Ultimately Athena judged that his was the lesser crime and set Orestes free.”
Pythagoras hesitantly met her eyes. Perhaps there was cause for some hope.
She continued, “Poseidon is willing to judge your case, if His Majesty will administer justice as his envoy.”
“All right, I’ll do it, just to make the Furies go away,” the king decided.
“Are you sure that’s wise, Your Majesty?” Cilix asked. “Who is this scrawny little redheaded peasant to take up a lot of Your Majesty’s valuable time with a trial? There is so much yet to be done in the Council. Furthermore, it might set a precedent that would embolden murderers. Why not just let the Furies have their justice?”
Pythagoras’ heart sank nearly to despair. Rank, wealth, and connections figured heavily into the king’s justice, and Pythagoras had none. The king would likely listen to Cilix and dismiss Pythagoras as a nobody. Then the Furies would make his nightmares come true.
Minos considered for a heart-stopping moment. Then he said, “He has sanctuary that cannot be violated, and the Oracle says Poseidon wishes this trial.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the Oracle confirmed.
“The trial will take place tomorrow at midday,” the king ordered, and with that swept off to the back of the Temple where he had entered from.
Cilix did not follow. Instead he seemed drawn toward the massive main Temple doors, still rattling against the Furies’ onslaught. No one dared censure the Head of the Royal Council, so they all held their breath as Cilix boldly pushed one of the heavy doors open. He stood frozen at the threshold as the dark tornado raged and howled before him, sending wind and dust into the Temple.
Then abruptly he turned back and approached the others, letting the door bang closed again behind him. A strange light was in his eyes. “I have been chosen by the Furies as their advocate for the trial,” he said, his tone somewhere between proud and awestruck. He regarded Pythagoras with unadulterated contempt. “They told me what you did. They will have justice, murderer!” With that Cilix departed the same way as the king.
Pythagoras realized he was shaking when Jason and Hercules each put a bracing hand on one of his shoulders.
Hercules asked, “If the Furies are going to have Cilix argue their case for them, who will speak for Pythagoras?”
“I’ll do it,” Jason volunteered. “It’ll be all right, Pythagoras,” he said. “We’re going to exonerate you once and for all. Hercules and I will show that you don’t deserve this, and that even Arcas thought so…”
As Jason continued his optimistic chatter, Pythagoras caught a look that passed between Hercules and the Oracle, one that he didn’t understand. Hercules gave a tiny nod.
The Oracle said to Jason, “I must ask something else of you instead. As one who is touched by the gods, you are eligible to do this task.”
“What is it? I’d do anything to save my friend.”
“The Furies have been maddened by the taste of blood. They are overstepping their role. They must be calmed by the cleansing and purifying of the altar where they were summoned, in their cave in the desert between here and Helios.”
“I’m willing to do it, but I don’t know the ritual.”
“The priests will provide you with a scroll of instructions and the necessary offerings.”
“Okay. I’ll go pack for a couple of days in the desert, then, and hire a horse with the wages we just earned,” Jason decided. Hercules winced at that but said nothing. Jason continued, “Pythagoras, no matter what Cilix says, you are still not a murderer, and we will win this trial!” Pythagoras nodded, and Jason headed for the side door away from the Furies.
Once Jason was out of earshot, Hercules asked Pythagoras, “Shall I speak for you, then?”
Before Pythagoras could accept, the Oracle said, “No, Hercules, you are needed as a witness. You cannot be both witness and defender.”
“I will speak for you,” Melas offered. “It was a brave thing you did, and what happened should not be called murder.”
“Thank you,” Pythagoras said, managing a small, relieved smile. Melas was logical, eloquent, devout, and kind. He also held a powerful enough position to have the king’s consideration, and he valued both the truth and the lives of the people of Atlantis.
“I must be honest with you,” the priest warned. “If you were a member of the court or of the wealthy classes, you would have a strong case for this trial. As it is… I will do everything I can for you, but I fear the king sees the whole situation as a nuisance, and he may decide upon expediency rather than justice, whatever we do.”
Pythagoras couldn’t speak past the lump in his throat, so he just nodded.
Hercules put an arm around his friend’s shoulders. “Then we’ll just need to find a way to make it expedient for him to set you free.”
Melas agreed. “That is what we must do.”
Pythagoras belatedly realized something. “Wait a minute,” he said. “The Furies’ cave is a full day away, and the trial is tomorrow. Jason isn’t going to get back in time!”
Hercules gave him that look that said he was being naïve. “Jason has been sent away so that he doesn’t end up doing you more harm than good.”
“What?” Pythagoras’ sleep-deprived mind couldn’t fathom how that might happen.
“Think about it. I can’t fault him for his loyalty in supporting you, but he’s both impulsive and oblivious to the customs concerning contact with the upper crust. Remember what happened when he stood up to Lord Heptarian right there in the street in front of everyone?”
“Vividly. We all ended up in chains and sentenced to the bull-court!”
“Exactly. This is one of those times when Jason’s way of trying to do the right thing is likely to make things worse. He’s liable to be so enthusiastic to defend you that he’ll speak out of turn and infuriate the king, and then where will you be?”
“Oh.” Pythagoras paused. “What about the ritual he’s doing?”
“The ritual is real. The Furies will not listen, but it can do no harm, even if Jason makes mistakes,” the Oracle assured him.
Pythagoras sighed. “I suppose we shouldn’t ever tell him.”
“No,” Hercules, the Oracle, and Melas said together. “Definitely not,” the Oracle added.