Chapter Text
Gnothi seauton.
Meden agan.
Engıa pára d'ate.
What a sight she was, armored in layers of silk, ears pierced with gold.
Bright, enduring, expensive. A parting gift, from her husband. A tribute to the Apollonium.
How pretty was their prize indeed, she mused.
Her hands crossed lightly over her lap, still as a statue. The trick was in the breathing, quiet and slow. From there, she could access a corner of her mind, a cavern, dark and cold, where thoughts rushed by like the roar of a waterfall.
It took three years of practice, to approach this level of calm. To smile and sit amicably in court as her heart thundered beneath the weave of her veins. She was a child of Thebes, and of its tragedies. She has survived the end of one great story, now, she will live to survive another.
She leans back into her seat. Cushioned by luxury and comfort, the pilentum was another gift, followed closely by a procession of soldiers. It was more than a day’s ride to the navel of the world. It wouldn’t do to have their present torn and ragged when it arrived.
Click.
Click.
Click.
The wheels had a steady click to them, for every stray stone or pebble on the path. Manto closes her eyes. Time was a temperamental liquid, viscous one day, and free flowing the next. You look away for just a moment, and suddenly, the waterclock is empty, and three years have passed since the war against Thebes.
Distantly, she remembers her mother, her last, and final memory of him. Face stricken with grief and fear as he fought through a wall of soldiers, hands reaching for the sound of her voice.
Click.
Click.
Click.
If she allowed her mind to drift far enough, she could hear the idle chatter of crowds, the yelling of vendors and shopkeeps.
Her mother’s steps are sure, confident strides. She imagines following close behind. Listening for the rhythmic click of his walking stick. Guiding her through towering silhouettes of strangers comprising the crowds of Thebe’s great agora.
A jolt steals her from her thoughts, the carriage stuttering into a stop as they arrived. The day still bright and clear in the ink of her memories.
The Temple of Apollo.
Gleaming like gold in the daylight, a subject of many myths from hundreds of years ago. One would think it was a relic, a forgotten tomb of its time, but it was alive. Bustling with foreign faces and dignitaries. Waiting at the steps for the Lady of the Hunt to signal when her twin wishes to commune with the Pythia.
At an angle, the sun reflects a blinding white from its rooftops. Manto’s eyes burn as it only continues to brighten, the pain in her eyes SEARING BLISTERING BURNING—
Her eyes snap open. Focusing on the rise and fall of her chest as she breaths. The sound of it echoing in the chamber of her room.
She remembers.
A full moon is meant to cross the sky tonight. Her duties as Pythia-in-training will begin soon. She breathes in the cool morning of her quarters. Simple and smelling faintly of dried bay leaves, warm and light. Like the sun.
In the distance, from her window, she could hear the crowds stirring. A great current of excitement woven by whispers, palpable in anticipation at the chance to consult the Oracle of Delphi.
Marika, a young priestess of the temple greets her as she exits, “Manto.” Manto. The name has yet to find a home under her skin. It wriggles like a mockery, a memory. She had a name, once.
“Marika” Manto greets, “The doors are opening today, I hear.”
Marika is always excited during consults. It was the diverse blend of stories and faces she loved. Manto recalls Marika’s wry smile as she asked, One does wonder, what problems ail even kings?
War, Land, and Love. From what she’s seen.
“Yes!” Marika answers quickly. “Preparations are being done at the spring, we need more firewood- I’m meant to carry herbs back to Poli by this afternoon but“
“Peace, Mari, I already know.” Manto sighs, Mari doesn’t like to go to the forest. She wasn’t raised in a village like she was. Doesn’t know which sticks to pick. If it was up to the young priestess, the sacred fires would have died from sodden wood long ago (that is, if they died at all).
Marika grabs her hands, earnest glee on her face, “Thank you Manto! I swear by the river Styx I planned to go before the sun has gone halfway through the sky but-“
Manto winces. “You swear by the Styx far too loosely Mari.”
“I’ll swear again! I’ll find you a piece of cake to leave at your room after the ceremony tonight.” Marika promises again, before her eyes spot something on Manto’s face. “You look tired.”
“Do I?” Manto replies dryly. “I had a dream.”
“A prophecy?” Marika’s eyes widen enough to catch a gleam of light in them. Manto’s position isn’t much of a secret, the council visits every new moon to comment on the progress of her training. She’s only assisted in four consults, barely even a year has passed since her arrival at Delphi.
“I’m… not sure” She decides to honestly answer. “Most of what I saw were memories”
“Buuut-?” Manto idly wonders if Marika truly had the time to talk to her in the hallway like this.
“I saw the sun.” She recalls in a whisper, “And it burned me.”
Marika’s head lilts to the side, clear confusion on her face. There was a noticeable silence droning on between them, Manto snatches the moment before it could grow any longer.
“I’ll consult with the Pythia tomorrow” She says, shaking off Marika’s hands. “I’m sure she’ll have an answer.”
Marika smiles, entirely agreeing with Manto’s plans for tomorrow before rushing off into the temple’s gardens, in search for herbs and for stories of strangers from far off lands.
Perhaps, in another life she was a traveler. Manto muses, before her steps take her to the sprawling woods bordering the temple’s grounds.
She had a full bundle of firewood by the time the sun was a quarter through the sky. The woods were a quiet comfort. Away from stone pillars and walls. The city always overwhelmed her as a child. Her mother used to take her birdwatching. Trying and failing to explain the method behind his skill for augury. It was a gift from the Lady of Wisdom after all, Manto could barely hope to attain it.
A bramble snapped, alerting her to the presence of another. There was a stranger, some few steps off the beaten path, walking towards her. Eyes shadowed by brown curls.
“Announce yourself.” She calls, with all the authority she could muster.
“I am a humble traveler.” The man says, not moving a foot closer. “Lost and in need of guidance.”
“Most would begin with a name.” She huffs.
The man pauses, bowing his head in acceptance, “Anargyros, of Thebes.”
Thebes. Her heart skips at the chance. What happened to the city? The people? The war efforts were unending, even amongst the Argives. She composes herself. Heels the rabid beat of her chest to answer evenly, “You said you were lost?”
“I’m looking for the temple of Apollo, you looked like a priestess” Anargyros shrugs. The pack he carries swaying behind him.
“The Temple’s path is clearly paved.” She raises an eyebrow. “Surely you’ve seen the line of visitors leading to it.”
“I have, but I am no visitor.” Anargyros wryly smiles.
“You’re a merchant then.” She guesses, by the work of his clothes.
“Of a sort.” He shrugs, “I have several trades.”
“I thought Thebes was destroyed.”
“For now...” The man’s voice lingers, almost teasing. “I go wherever the commerce is. Wherever it is, I am.”
“And the commerce is here, in Delphi?”
“Don’t your people host the games? Attracts quite a lot of attention—“
“Questions for questions.” Manto grits out, “What do you want, Traveler.”
“A path to the main steps.” Anargyros leans against the nearest tree. “And you? I don’t believe you can hold that bundle forever darling.”
Darling. Manto bristles at the endearment. “I mean this in no offence, but I want nothing from you.”
“You know, in Thebes. I was known to sense lies.”
“Or maybe you are a skilled liar.”
The traveler-merchant laughs, rolling and free. The leaves seem to laugh alongside him, buffeted by a stray wind. How strange this stranger was.
“Maybe.” Anargyros shrugs again, carefree and light. “I’m just offering some- perspective. A deal for a deal. A parley of information that could benefit us both.”
Manto knows this is a dangerous truce. Who knows if he was paid by the city council to test her allegiance? If she was of Thebes or a true prophetess of Apollo. The gods do not deign to answer her silent queries. Neither does Apollo send her a vision to guide her decision.
In her memories, the sound of her mother’s voice drifts further and further away.
“I show you the path to the temple’s main steps. And you tell me where your people have fled to.” Her hope is not a thing with wings, it leaps, scrabbling against the edge of a cliff. Clawing its way to solid ground by the grit of her nails. She can hope, and if the gods should allow it, she could pray.
“You consider this a fair trade?”
“I guide you to a path through my home, and you tell me of yours.”
There is a sense of heavy finality, as the man rights his stance. As if a hand was shaken, a deal struck. There was a slight shift in the air, maybe it was the position of the sun, climbing higher above them.
Heat beating down on bare skin.
The man answers, jovial in response, “The lake Kopais in Boeotia. Is where I hail from.”
Lake Kopais. A three day trek from where she stood now. She rearranges the bundle of wood in her arms, turning towards the path.
“Follow along then Anargyros of Thebes” she instructs him kindly, “I will show you to the steps.”