Chapter 4 #2
I did try to sleep as the sun set. I closed my eyes and snuggled into bed and tried not to think about what had happened the last time I slept.
Or what I wished I was doing now. Or what I had to do in the morning, which brought up a significant amount of stress.
It was restless business, chasing down my own thoughts, but eventually I did manage to doze off.
When the four of us stumbled out of bed to prepare ourselves, it was by candlelight that we donned the ceremonial garb of flowing light blue cloth, pinned at the shoulders by elaborate pearly brooches.
Bronze jewelry coiled tight around our necks and upper arms, and we even had matching hairpins to decorate our plaits.
With all of this in place, our skin was adorned with flowing lines of shimmering gold paint which stretched down our arms and legs.
We dabbed some onto our lips as well, and lined our eyes with a traditional red-brown shade.
This part I enjoyed quite a bit. These rituals were some of the only times we were permitted to wear color, which always brought a special type of excitement. I felt beautiful, so dressed up. We hoped our beauty would bring joy to the gods as we gracefully performed the sacred rite.
As a last measure before our departure, the silver ritual dagger, adorned with jewels, was removed from its resting place in the inner temple.
Sophie wore it tied around her waist. So prepared, the four of us climbed into a dark carriage to be borne away to the outer wall.
We spent the journey mostly in silence, dwelling on the day ahead.
I used the time to blink the last of my sleepiness away.
When we reached our destination, the sky was lightening in the stillness just before dawn.
I could hear the low rumble of movement and speech behind the gate as the city woke with us to lay their honors before the gods.
Up the path from the outer farmland, a guard brought our finest bull, a massive beast with a slick black coat and small but intimidating horns.
A hoop of bright flowers had been draped around his neck, displaying soft petals of red and blue. Alex took his lead.
Alex and Sophie took their places in front of the sacrifice, one on each side, and Zoe and I followed behind.
In a line behind us stood a procession of the elders, followed by musicians: drums, cymbals, and a very talented flutist. We all waited at the ready until the first sunbeams peeked over the horizon.
At dawn’s first light, the city gates opened, and we made our way onto the main thoroughfare.
The musicians began a cheery tune, soft at first but growing in intensity.
Already citizens were lined up on either side of us, pressing in for a closer look.
We took the journey at a steady walk toward the heart of the city.
As we passed by, people tossed handfuls of grain and blossoms in our wake, then added on to the rear of the procession, carrying baskets of fruit, boughs, various grains, and even small animals.
Beneath the music was the steady murmur of hushed conversations, bristling with joy and anticipation as the citizenry shook off their drowsiness.
I looked ahead as we moved, listening to the crowd but not watching them.
I kept my eyes fixed past the bull, past my sisters, toward the towers of the temple that peeked over the hill and jutted into the cloudy sky.
It was a peaceful morning, well fit for prayer and reverence.
The sun climbed higher and higher as we made our way, until finally we approached the entrance to the temple courtyard.
At our arrival, Alex and Sophie led the sacrifice to the altar, while Zoe and I split off to stand on either side of the gate, holding silver pitchers filled with fresh, clean water.
As each person passed into the holy ground, we poured the water over their open hands, cleansing them.
After some time, the courtyard was tightly packed, leaving a long line of people still waiting for entry beyond the gate.
By this time the elders had arranged themselves on either side of the stone altar, dressed in deep purple robes and bowing their heads in respect.
Alex and Sophie stood in front of the altar with the black bull, with burning candles and incense displayed in a hemisphere behind the stone.
In front of them had been arranged a wide circle of tinder and boughs, ready to be set alight into a great pyre.
Silence fell over the crowd as Alex stepped forward and raised her hands to the sky to begin the ritual prayer.
“Our Lady Demeter,” she called out, “bringer of the bounties of the earth, whose hand has blessed our years with ripe fruit and full harvests, we call to you once again. We ask for the fertility of the soil and the abundance of its crops in your name. For your honor we present our sacrifice.”
“Our Lord Zeus,” Sophie continued, “king of the gods and of the sky, whose gaze has fallen kindly upon our lands, we call to you once again. We ask for your blessing of sustaining rain and the favor of your hand upon us. For your honor we present our sacrifice.”
“For the honor of our gods,” they called together, “we shed blood this day. For Hera, our queen; for the maiden Artemis and the artist Apollo; for Poseidon, hand of the seas; for Dionysus, root of the vine; for the great tactician Athena and for lovely Aphrodite. For the honor of our gods we present our sacrifice.”
At this, Alex raised a heavy hammer, and I held my breath.
This bit was difficult to do gracefully, and I was thankful that it wasn’t my turn to perform it.
My sister, though, did not hesitate. With an arcing swing she brought the hammer down upon the head of the bull, sounding a loud crack.
Sophie approached the dazed animal and quickly, fluidly, sliced open its throat with the ritual dagger.
Blood spilled out upon the ground, small spurts shooting from the gaping wound to stain Sophie’s dress. A cheer rose from the crowd.
When the bull collapsed, several men approached from the left and from the right; together, they hoisted the great carcass onto the stone altar.
Alex and Sophie lifted pitchers filled with the finest wine and poured it ceremoniously atop the sacrifice.
Then at last, Alex stepped forward, holding a flame.
She carried it forth and bowed her head upon casting it into the tinder.
Another cheer sounded as the pyre lit up.
I let out a tiny sigh of relief, knowing the hardest parts of the ceremony were over.
The first of the citizenry approached the pyre at my sisters’ beckoning.
They tossed in their gifts of fruit, grain, flowers, and other foods.
Some spoke a few words if they preferred to do so.
Then they either remained to observe and pray, or they exited the temple walls through the two side gates, preparing to celebrate in their own streets.
As they left, the line moved up, and Zoe and I cleansed everyone who walked by.
We passed the hours this way, and morning turned to afternoon.
When the last of the procession had entered and been cleansed, Zoe and I closed the temple gates behind them.
It was only now that my sisters and I joined the back of the queue, carrying gifts of our own.
At my turn, the last, I offered a garland of white blossoms and a pinch of grain.
“For the honor of our Olympians,” I whispered into the pyre, “in hopes of a plentiful spring.”
At last my scheduled tasks were done. The four of us were set loose to wander the courtyard to mingle and lay hands on those who remained.
I drifted from person to person with gladness, feeling like a part of a sanctified whole.
Meanwhile, butchers prepared the slaughtered bull.
The limbs were to be burnt upon the altar with the addition of more fine wine and incense; the rest would be cooked and passed around for all to partake during the party to come.
There was one more thing I wished to offer before the atmosphere of reverence turned to celebration.
In this time of sacred prayer, some of the higher class would call to their patron gods in worship—the ones to whom they felt a connection, and by whom they believed their lives to be especially blessed.
I had never felt any such connection, and had even wondered if the majority of the practice was mere grandstanding. But I felt something now.
I took a stick of incense and went alone into the temple, searching for a place of silence.
My feet carried me by themselves, and funnily enough, I ended up in the very hall where I’d performed Damarion’s last rites.
I knelt on the cold floor and bowed my head, setting the lit incense before me.
I spoke my admiration into the empty air.
“Thanatos, lord of death, keeper of the final breath, lend my soul your artistry to guide me to eternity.”
I remained for some time before heading out to the party, paying tribute with the emptiness of my silence. I smiled when I left the hall. “I hope you feel flattered now.”
* * *
When I walked back outside, the atmosphere had already turned raucous. The first rounds of wine were being passed around, along with meat, cheese, and fruits. Cheery sounds erupted from the courtyard, from the gardens where games were played, and from the city streets beyond the temple walls.
I went straight for the wine to take the edge off of the stressful day.
I happily drained and refilled a glass, then made my way through the crowd to look for some entertainment.
This was one of the only times I would see most people in this setting, so I wanted to soak up as much gossip as I could concerning life beyond the temple gates.