Reborn

by Łukasz Konopczak

  “Now we wait,” said Charon, his glum demeanour back. When a faint voice called “Next!” from beyond the gate, the carrier pushed open the gate of skulls and stepped across with confidence, pulling his prisoner behind him.

  The room they entered was nothing short of magnificent. It was round, the floor of mosaic gold. Opposite the entrance was a judge"s box, as tall as five men standing on top of each other and the shape of a semi-circle, with three figures sitting in it. The man on the left was wellbuilt and elderly, with long, beautiful platinum hair and a beard. An eye patch covered one eye, the other a startling blue. The figure in the middle was hidden by shadow, his cloak hiding his features. The brown-bearded man on the right side seemed familiar to Nestor. But that was impossible; he"d never been here before.

  Ab ove the judges" heads was an enormous, gold scale. Charon and Nestor stepped across the gold flooring and towards the judges until they stood so close to the box

  Doom of the Olympus “REBORN” that they had to raise their chins high to see them. After a moment of regarding the pair, the old man on the left began.

  “You have three righteous judges at the tribunal,” he said, his voice rich like velvet. “We will judge you according to your life"s achievements and merits. Your name?”

  The warrior didn"t answer until he got a nudge from Charon.“Nestor, son of Agros.”

  The middle character shifted, his voice raspy. “Occupation?” “Soldier and teacher.”

  “And how was your course of duty?”

  “Model,” said Nestor. “I was a loyal servant and did my duty with honour.” The judge on the right leaned forward, regarding Nestor with a piercing gaze. “Didn"t you fight the pirates of Fedrys?”

  “Yes, sir,” said Nestor. “I was able to save the king,” pride ran through him. Now he was more certain that he had seen this character somewhere. Perhaps he even knew him, but he was struggling to remember. Faces and memories slipped from him as he tried to grasp them, like trying to catch smoke in his fingers. Perhaps down here, in the realm of the dead, his mortal memories were fading away.

  The figure in the middle-leaned forward, but Nestor still couldn"t see his features. “Rhadamanthus, let"s not prolong this,” said the elde rly man. “There are many other souls awaiting Judgement.”

  “Yes. My apologies, Aiakos.” When Nestor heard the first name, his knees almost gave way beneath him. Not only did he know the name, but the person to which it belonged. Rhadamanthus was the brother of his king, Minos. He barely heard the next question.

  “Did you do anything in your life to offend the gods?” There was a deafening silence. Nestor knew the answer, but he"d never considered himself guilty. He"d never done anything to knowingly offend any god. Not even the smallest or meekest. He took a breath and had begun to speak when the middle figure leaned out of the shadow. Short hair, brown beard, a handsome face that now looked upon Nestor with disgust.

  “Yes. He offended and was cursed by the supreme god, Zeus,” he said. Nestor"s stomach sank. It was King Minos.

  Fifteen

  Nestor didn"t know what to think. He was running out of time to help the child. He"d decided to go to the oracle in Delphi, though of course he regretted that. The riddles she spoke could always be interpreted in multiple ways, often only causing more confusion than before.

  “Only the double-born can help the cursed soul, but he shall bring doom for another.” Those words gave Nestor some idea of who needed to be found, but the most disturbing thing was the information about the suffering of others. He was afraid that it might affect him personally, or someone he loved. It was difficult.

  He"d promised to undertake the task of saving the child, and he would do it. He pondered the oracle"s riddle. Double-born; what did that mean? Someone who was born twice? Maybe it was about the Olympic gods being born, then eaten, and recovered again. That would narrow down his search. The possibilities were Hades, Hera, Demeter, Poseidon, and Hestia. But each of those deities had their own temples, all in different locations. How would he decide where to look first?

  He came to the realisation that those who went after prophecies did whatever they thought was right to do at the time, yet it all came to pass anyway. And that was the whole secret. It would all happen with or without Nestor running around looking for gods and temples.

  I might as well sit here and wait for it to happen. The head of security was extremely pleased with his reasoning. It’s time to go home, then.

  “Great idea, Nestor!” Annoyed, he spoke to himself on the fourth day of his journey home. Absolutely nothing had happened along the way that could have shown him the solution. No holy signs or remarkable coincidences that could point him in the right direction.

  He had been heading for the port in Athens where the ship was waiting for him to take him to Crete, though had hoped that through this mundane task he would stumble across some divine sign of where he should go. Tired, anxious, and irritated, he decided that he could use a moment of rest. All he had to do was find some shelter from the heat, which was not likely to be difficult here in Athens. When he reached the gates of the city, the sounds of celebration reached his ears. Laughing, cheering, the clinking of mugs brimming with wine, and music.

  “Excuse me, what"s the celebration today?” He asked a man slumped against a nearby wall. The man"s tabard was askew, his eyes half closed and his cheeks dark red. He slid a few centimetres down the wall at Nestor"s approach, his chest jumping as he hiccupped, a dreamy look on his face.

  “Wuh -wuhwhat do you mean?” slurred the man, giving another violent hiccup. His front teeth were chipped, and he was missing one– he may have lost it recently, as blood still adorned his gums. As the man slurred, he slipped and fell into a puddle of yellowish liquid.

  Nestor didn"t want to know what it was, and he hurried on towards the agora market square, where he guessed the biggest fiesta was taking place. At least he would be able to get some good wine in his belly and get some rest before heading for the ship. Since he"d arrived during a feast, he decided to go make an offering to the temple. This one, fortunately, was not complicated; it was enough that he simply pours wine into a specially prepared trough.

  “Dionysus must be a decent fellow,” he said to himself. On the way, Nestor bought two bottles of wine from a smiling tradesman. For the offering and, of course, one for himself. He felt quite out of place seemingly being the only sober man for a five-mile radius, which he would dearly have loved to rectify. He headed for the temple, the sun beating on his shoulders as he gazed round at the gorgeous architecture of which Greece"s fine capital boasted. Inside the temple was cool, and Nestor sighed with relief, his throat already parched.

  There was no one there except him and some hooded figure sitting in a corner. Nestor approached the shrine and started pouring out one of the wine"s contents into the offering trough.

  Nestor spoke in a whisper. “Since I am already making a sacrifice for God, I may as well pray. Dionysus, god of fertility, I ask you to help me, but above all, to help a small child,” he kept his voice low, not wanting to disturb the other person, but above all not to be heard. His heart sank when the hooded figure rose and started to walk slowly towards him.

  “Hello, stranger,” he greeted him. “Forgive me, I did not intend to eavesdrop your prayers, but the construction here is so poor that it does not allow for quiet prayer.”

  “That"s quite all right,”

  “May I sit down?”

  Nestor was exhausted and didn"t really want to talk, but he didn"t have the strength to protest. With a gesture of invitation, he pointed out the place next to him. The hooded man continued.

  “You know you"re probably the first person to turn to the god of wine, fertility and fun to save you? Usually people turn to Demeter or Hera.”

  Interfering fellow. “You know, I don"t want to seem the ignorant, but I think I did it because of this holiday.” “Who"s the kid you want to help? Yours?”

  “No. He is the king"s
son,” realizing he"d said too much, he quickly added, “He is... sick.” “Oh, I understand,” the hooded man bowed his head. “You are, therefore, a great subject. You"re looking for help for a child who is not your own.”

  “But it"s not good enough,” Nestor sighed. He wasn"t sure why he was telling the stranger all this. Perhaps he felt relief at finally being able to vent his frustrations. “I still don"t have a cure. I"ll go home empty-handed, and the child will die.” He pushed down the tears that threatened to follow. The death of a child was a terrible, terrible thing, cursed monster or no.

  “Hmmm, I don"t want to sound terrible, but the mention of a child dying in this temple is quite... intriguing.” “Why would you say that?” asked Nestor in disgust. The man seemed unpeterbed by his tone.

  “So you don"t know the story of Dionysus?” “No,” Nestor lied. “All I know is that he is one of Zeus" many sons.”

  “Yes, you"re right. You want to hear a little more?” “Sure.” “Dionysus was the fruit of a relationship bet ween Zeus and his mortal mother, Semele. Because of his hooligan lifestyle, you can imagine that his wife, Hera, was not happy. But this relationship poured a spell of bitterness. Unfortunately, instead of taking revenge on her husband, she targeted an innocent child. She sent a titan to find him, tear him apart and eat him. When Zeus realized what had happened, it was too late. All that was left of the child was the heart. He recovered it, killed the titan and decided to bring the child back to life. He sewed a tiny organ into his thigh, where a little boy developed after nine months. Yes, Dionysus became the first „double-born."”

  As the speaker"s last words, Nestor got to his feet and ran up to the gutter, into which he had previously poured wine, opened the second bottle and began to pray fervently, pouring out all the wine.

  “O, double-born! Look at the child who must be born again and save him!” Suddenly, in the temple, all the torches fired up, lighting up the room like the sunlight of a city at noon. The hooded man watched with interest.

  “I think he listened to your requests,” he remarked. “But you have to get to the child as soon as possible and remove the curse.”

  “Thank you! Yes, I"m going to save him!” said Nestor, filled with hope. He even started running towards the exit, but stopped and asked, “What"s your name, benefactor?” The man smiled. “Call me Bacchus.”

  Sixteen

  Nestor was paralysed. He couldn"t even move an eyelid, his pupils dilating as his jaw dropped. He stared at the middle judge, King Minos, with nothing but bewilderment. Although he hadn"t seen him for hundreds of years, he had no doubt that it was him.

  “You seem surprised that I am the judge here,” Minos said after a while. “But didn"t you call me the wisest and fairest of kings yourself?”

  “Yes,” Nestor answered quietly, dropping his gaze. His mission had just ended. After what had happened between them, he didn"t have the slightest glimmer of hope that he would get his help. But he decided couldn"t give him the satisfaction of seeing him give up. He raised his head proudly and added, “But I was wrong!”

  The previous king of Crete"s eyebrows creased in a frown, his mouth tightening. Rhadamanthus remained calm. Aiakos seemed to be surprised, sensing the dislike between judge and judged from their voices alone. “I"m calling everyone back to order,” he said. “We are here to judge the soul brought before us by Charon.”

  Nestor tore his gaze from his former king, settling on the elderly-looking judge on the left, who continued with sobriety. “Based on the following: an insult to a divine majesty,” he gestured a pale hand to Minos beside him, “Your divine curse, and an attempt to commit suicide, I find Nestor, son of Agros, guilty of the deeds he"s been charged with and sentence him to eternal damnation at Tartarus.”

  Nestor swallowed. Minos would surely concur. There was no hope left.

  I was a fool to come here. “I find him innocent,” said Rhadamanthus, looking at the accused with a face so like his brother"s, gracing Nestor with a gentle smile that expressed understanding and full approval of his actions. Nestor couldn"t return the kind gesture but bowed his head in respect. The decision, therefore, belonged to Minos, who smiled spitefully and began.

  “The Supreme Judg e Aiakos forgot to add that he did not do his military service. Nestor ignored the orders of his commanders more than once.”

  Rhadamanthus threw an annoyed look at his brother. All of that was true, but they all had their justifications and good endings. But there was nothing more he could do. Each judge made an independent decision.

  “There is nothing left to say,” Minos continued. “I rule you, Nestor, son of Agros, GUIL–” “Veto,” said a woman"s voice. Although she did not shout, her had a powerful and disturbing aura that silenced even Minos. Everyone in the hall froze. Even Charon, the glummest and most apathetic person Nestor knew, was petrified.

  A figure emerged from behind Nestor"s back and passed him. He didn"t know if it was her aura, or her spirit, but this close to the woman caused him to suddenly feel terrible cold, as though she was made of frost. He gasped as terrible images suddenly floated in his mind. Death, pain, torture, suffering. He shook his head, knuckling his eyes, but still they flashed. A thousand terrible, bloody battles. A child dying of sickness. Nestor groaned, suddenly feeling that he wanted to die, here and now, and damn the consequences. The woman, with flowing locks dark as a raven"s wing and wearing an elegant chiton, stood between him and the judges and continued her hypnotic performance.

  “Minos, you were elected to this council as a just and reasonable king. There is no place for your personal vendetta. Secondly, as far as I know, the accused was cursed because he saved yourchild.”

  “Be that as it may, Thanatos,” Minos grunted, leaning back into the shadows.

  Thanatos. The goddess of death. “Thirdly,” she smiled with ruby -red lips. “Nestor served his sentence for more than three hundred years without complaint. He raised several generations of heroes. And most importantly, although his punishment came to an end, he didn"t come here to rest in the Elysian Fields. He came to hell to save the gods he should surely hate. If that isn"t heroism, I don"t know what it is anymore.”

  The goddess Thanatos spread her beautiful black wings and shook out her raven hair. If it wasn"t for the gloomy atmosphere that accompanied her, Nestor could consider her to be the most beautiful creature he has ever seen. It was probably the first time in his life that someone made Minos aware of his irrational thinking, as he was now sitting in his seat like a sulking child. But in the end, he gathered strength to answer.

  “Yes, ma"am. My wrath overshadowed my judgment. I beg your pardon.” “Don"t worry so muc h about yourself anymore, Minos,” she said, quite charmingly for a goddess of death. She turned to Nestor. “Today you won"t get admission to the Elysian Fields. But you will get the help you need. Let"s go to my chambers and talk.”

  Nestor nodded and followed his defender slowly, not daring to look up at Minos. His former king would surely be furious that the opportunity to punish Nestor had slipped through his fingers. Anxiety pummelled him, mingled with the relief that at least today, he wouldn"t die.

  Seventeen

  “It seems your old master has arrived in Hades,” said Freya, her long, blonde hair reflecting the pale glow of the lava that surrounded them. Tattoos adorned her arms and hands. “I told you he had to be liquidated before he got there.”

  “Calm down, my dear,” said Ares. In his red armour, he was like a reflection of the powerful mountain of fire. “He"s a mortal. He can"t stand against us gods.”

  “Pff,” Freya scoffed. “You Greeks and your „calm down" and „patience." You get everything from the birth right. We in our nine lands, have to work hard to earn immortality!”

  “Oh yes, I know. It"s fascinating, really. So tell me what you did to deserve it, most beautiful woman of the north.”

  This angered the goddess of love, who snatched her dagger from its sheath, tackled Ares to the ground and wrapped her fre
e hand around his neck. She put the blade against his crown jewels, and he stiffened beneath the bite of the blade against the delicate area. She spoke through her teeth.

  “Don"t think I wouldn"t slit the balls of a giant, whet her he"s claiming my hand or not,” her eyes burned like hellfire.

  “I knew you were beautiful, but I didn"t think you were so aggressive. And brave,” he hastily added as the blade pressed against his groin. “Forgive me for my stupidity. I"d rather keep my jewels.” Pain and rage battled inside him. Once again that day, someone had choked him.

  Freya let him go free and reached out her hand to help him up. He grasped her wrist, pulling himself up and fixing his armour.

  “Honeybuns, are you done?” a figure in full gold- coloured armour interrupted. She was followed by an enormous lion. The majestic beast was a sight to behold, intelligence in its eyes and its muscles powerful. Freya glared at her and wandered off, shoving her dagger back into its sheath.

  “They are waiting for us. It"s time for the next phase,” said the newcomer.

  “We"re going,” said Ares, and he came out of the forge, leaving the blacksmith"s mutilated body behind.

  Eighteen

  “We won"t make it,” Nestor muttered. He paced nervously, his sandals slapping on the boat"s deck, causing his sailors to glance in concern. It had been a full year since he"d sworn that oath to himself and the cursed child. Today was the prince"s first birthday, the last day King Minos had promised him that he would wait before slaughtering the child.

  The sun was already setting, it was still twenty miles to the port and the wind wasn"t blowing at all, so the ship"s crew had to row. However, it was such a big raft, that ten oarsmen were not nearly enough. A hundred men should be there to power the vessel, however, due to the delicacy of the whole venture, Nestor hired only trusted people. He"d decided that he would not wait for a miracle. He would make it happen himself.