3. Cut Off
3
Cut Off
Calliste
Calliste’s hands shook as she packed her bag, barely registering what she was doing. Then she forced herself to slow down.
Haste makes a mess. Leontia’s words.
She’d already changed from her snowy robe into a thin peplos robe of unbleached linen and caught the edges with simple pins over her collarbones. Her belt was a strip of leather. She secured the straps of sandals around her ankles and packed her official pine-green robe along with a box containing herbal disinfectants, oils, and bandages. She strapped her knife back to her thigh, then she paused, her head empty.
How long am I going away for?
She pushed away the question, one of many. Too many. The years she had spent in the temple ingrained enough obedience and acceptance to carry her through what needed to be done.
Is Epione testing me? That would be an explanation, but if this was a divine trial, then the gods had a cruel sense of humor, snatching away the fruit of her hopes at the last moment, leaving her hungry and thirsting for it.
Despite the urgency imposed by the king, or perhaps in silent defiance of it, she sat down on her bed, her gaze unseeing as her mind ran in a parallel time of what this day should have looked like .
She shouldn’t be alone in her chamber, staring at the rough, pale-yellow flagstones and packing for the journey to the city she had fled years ago in sheer panic.
By now, she should be sitting down to a celebratory feast with all the women who now made up her tight-knit world. She should be carving the roast, chewing on the honeyed oatcakes and figs, and raising a glass of pomegranate wine to toast her new responsibilities as the High Priestess. Because the feast was a rare extravagance, reserved only for celebrating the vow-taking, and a proof that her dreams had finally come true.
I’ve earned it. I’ve worked so hard for this.
For a moment, she was ready to throw herself onto her bed and have a good, bitter cry. Her eyes stung enough. She lowered her head and let the tears drop onto the flagstones.
The door to the chamber opened. The edge of Leontia’s green robe swept into the corner of her vision. “I brought the incantations and the coins.” Her face seemed even more lined than earlier. Another exchange with the king, most likely. “Keep them safe.”
Calliste swallowed the burning in her throat and reached out for a folder of neatly arranged parchments tied with a simple cord and placed it in her bag. She knew each one by heart, but it was comforting to have them with her. Then, with a sigh, she packed a small pouch with coins from the faraway Temple of Hades. These were coins for the dead, small and silver, engraved with a star on one side and a tree on the other. The coins she placed in the mouths of the deceased, so they could pay Charon for their journey across the River Styx and into the depths of the Underworld. “I took my clothes, my box of herbs and bandages, and the statuettes. My knife, too. I don’t know what else to take,” she said. “I haven’t traveled anywhere since… you know. Since I arrived here.”
Leontia strode to the coffer in the corner of her chamber and retrieved a bleached woolen hat. “Here. Other than that, just the essentials. You should be allowed access to the Disciples’ library, for any references you may need. And the king will provide you with everything else.”
“Gracious of him,” Calliste bit out.
Leontia rubbed her temples. “I know how much you’ve sacrificed to be able to stand in the Grand Temple today, but remember, this is a delay in your plans, not the end of them.”
Their eyes locked.
Calliste sat straight and still. “What if he finds out what I’ve done before coming here?”
Leontia froze. “He won’t.”
But it was too late. A long-forgotten dread clawed at her chest. “If he sees my scars and presses me for an explanation… or worse, searches for a record at Hera’s temple that could lead him to… to everything.” Now she was shaking. “He might put me on trial and sentence me to dea—”
“Don’t let him see your scars. And if he does, don’t tell him the truth. He won’t be interested in your past—he’s only after your gift, Calliste.” Gently, she raised Calliste’s pendant in front of her eyes. “You’re the High Priestess of Epione now, and you have no obligation to confess anything to him. I vouched for you and he knows he can trust you.”
“Leontia”—her throat felt thick—“do you believe I have atoned for what I’ve done?”
Leontia’s expression turned serious as she paused to consider the question. “I’m only a mortal who cannot dispense divine justice,” she said quietly. “But you’ve helped to heal or save over seven hundred lives here. Surely, that must be enough.”
Calliste rose from her bed as if in a dream, taking her linen bag and casting one last look around her room before following Leontia through the familiar corridors. The order was already buzzing with activity, everything back to normal. “Can I say goodbye to everyone?”
“Why? We expect you back soon. I need you here, Calliste. Who else will lead this order when I’m gone?”
“Whoever proves themselves worthy,” she said flatly. “It’s not an exclusive privilege.”
The Head Priestess smiled. “And yet, I can only think of you.”
They continued their meandering journey until the cooling shadow of the stone gave way to the scorching sun. Helios’ chariot dipped by a fraction, marking the first hour past noon.
How much could have changed in one hour?
Everything, it seemed.
Calliste followed Leontia down the wide steps from the main building of the Sisterhood of Epione. They crossed a courtyard hemmed in by high walls broken only by a small, hunched gate.
Briefly, Calliste glanced over her shoulder at the buildings of the complex towering high behind them. The infirmary sat at the bottom, next to the lesser Temple of Epione. Above that was the dormitory, along with kitchens and storage areas. Leontia’s main chamber overlooked the courtyard from one window and offered a view of the mountains from another.
And finally, the marvel of Epione’s Temple, carved into the mountain, stood proudly at the top. Its soaring columns supported stonework with a frieze depicting Asklepios’ divine wife curing the sick. Made of pure white marble that rivaled the snow on nearby peaks, it glinted in the afternoon light.
Calliste still struggled to believe that she had walked its main aisle not so long ago and never reached her destination. The hem of her robe swept the dust of the courtyard as she pressed her lips and looked up, noticing the king’s silhouette at the end of the stone gates.
Leontia slowed to a stop. “I didn’t want to tell you earlier, in case someone overhears. He said he was here for a miracle. Do you know what he’s referring to?” she asked with a strange urgency.
“The Last Pact, correct?”
“Correct,” Leontia said with an exhale. “Now that you know how it works, you can see how it might seem like a miracle to outsiders. I’ll pray that it won’t come to that, but if you need to resort to it…”
Despite the heat blasting from the sky, Calliste shivered. “Resort to the Last Pact?” She stared at Leontia. “You truly mean it?”
“I swear by all the gods,” Leontia whispered, her face pinched. “If I didn’t know how dire the king’s situation is, I wouldn’t mention it. But I do. Your pendant grants you access to divine powers, Calliste. However, there will be only you—you alone—and I don’t know what you’ll face. If what you have at your disposal isn’t enough…” She gave a heavy exhale. “If you decide, in good conscience, that you want to perform the Last Pact, you have my permission to do so.”
Calliste’s stomach clenched.
“Here.” Leontia reached for a bundle wrapped in plain linen that she carried under her arm and unwrapped it, revealing a small case lacquered black with a golden symbol in the center. She lifted the lid briefly, revealing a bunch of sage leaves the size of a fist, dried to the point where they were bone-white, banded with a purple ribbon. Beside it was a roll of parchment with threads of gold woven into its sheet.
Calliste stared at it. Sacred sage. And the words to recite for the Last Pact.
“Only as a last resort, Calliste,” Leontia said, closing the box and securing it with a metal latch before passing it to her. “You have unlimited access to divine powers now.” Her smile seemed strained. “Don’t forget the basics: the pendant amplifies your power, but it will take its toll. The more complicated the treatment, the more draining the effects.”
“I understand.” With stiff fingers, Calliste took the box, still numb with shock. Of all the things that had happened today, this cut the deepest. If Leontia didn’t hesitate to hand her over this box, knowing the cost of invoking the Last Pact, then this mission must be of critical importance.
She slipped the box into her bag as they crossed the shadow of the archway to be blasted by the midday sun again.
Ahead of her was a dusty road winding down a gentle slope and disappearing into a pine forest. Calliste squinted against the bright light at the surrounding gray mountains, their peaks dusted with faded greenery, exhausted by the heat so intense that their image wavered.
Finally, she stopped in front of the king.
Clutching the hat, Calliste looked down, avoiding eye contact with the man whose close presence seemed more intense than the midday sun.
“Calliste is ready, Majesty. I pray she succeeds where others have failed.”
The king didn’t reply.
Whatever wordless exchange passed between him and Leontia, Calliste didn’t know. She couldn’t bring herself to look at the man who had torn her away from everything she knew through the worst blackmail she could think of.
Leontia briefly rested her hand on Calliste’s shoulder. “May Hermes the Guide speed your journey, to Anthemos and back.” She then turned and walked away through the archway, leaving them in heated silence.