Praxis was tired of retreating.
Even though there was no army chasing him, no enemy hot on his heels, he couldn’t help but feel that every step away from Argos was a miserable retreat.
It certainly didn’t help that he couldn’t manage to walk on his own two feet. Lysandra had to act as a crutch for him, and the pair moved slowly throughout the night, not bothering to stop until morning when they’d put a considerable distance between themselves and the city. Out here was a wild and desolate land, nothing like the lush and fertile Argolis.
It was also one of the most dangerous areas of Greece. Bandits and other malcontents called the wilds of Arcadia home, and that was reason enough for Praxis to keep his guard up despite his wounded condition.
It didn’t hurt to have some company either. Not long after dawn, they found a road where a small convoy was making its way west to Elis. Figuring there would be safety in numbers, but also not wanting to give their position away completely, they shadowed that convoy until about midmorning.
“Maybe we should follow it all the way to Elis,” suggested Lysandra, trying to make light conversation as they walked. “I’ve never been there before but I’ve heard it’s nice land. My father used to go to the games in Olympia when he was younger. I’ve always wanted to see them.”
Praxis knew what Lysandra was doing. She’d been doing it all night, and he knew enough about her by now to recognize the warning signs. She was trying to take his mind off of Argos. Any banal or trivial topic would do as long as it wasn’t a reminder of his failure to protect the city. For the most part, Praxis stayed silent but there was something about his state of mind that morning that prevented him from ignoring it.
“Elis, Achaea or damn Sicily for that matter,” muttered Praxis. “It doesn’t matter where I go. I’ll never wash the stench of failure off of me.”
Lysandra’s face assumed a painful look. “Praxis, it wasn’t your fault.”
“It was my fault. Argos was my home.”
“And my home too. The home of my brother and many people who are now dead,” she said, her voice choking at the mention of Lysander. “Sometimes bad things happen that we can’t explain or turn around. Unfortunately, this is just one of those things.”
“Then I’m better off dead,” replied Praxis flatly. “What good am I to you or to anyone else if I can’t go home? Or if I can’t even fight? It’s only because of you that I can walk right now. You should just put me out of my misery and get on with your life.”
Tears fell down her cheeks. “Don’t say that, Praxis. You don’t mean that.”
“I do mean that. It’ll be better for everyone if you. I’ve failed in this life. The only thing that’s left for me to do is to join the underworld with the rest of our people that died yesterday.”
Thankfully, Lysandra had the kind of inner strength that most people could only dream of. Despite her pain at losing her brother and her home, she had the fortitude to ignore his ramblings and continue walking.
Though they were falling further and further behind the convoy, they finally crossed the border into Arcadia that afternoon. They were now in the shadows of the great Mt. Oligyrtos—a wicked and jagged-looking peak that heralded their new destination.
Unfortunately for Praxis, it was also the place where he took his last step. It wasn’t the terrain that caused him to fall but rather his body. His strength was finally robbed of the last bit of reserves.
“Praxis!” shrieked Lysandra, nearly toppling over with him. “Praxis, get up. Please get up, Praxis!”
*****
He just wasn’t moving. No matter what Lysandra did, he wouldn’t respond to her. There was no expression on his face and his eyes were closed. At least he still had a pulse but barely, beating so faintly that Lysandra wondered how long it would last.
To make matters even worse, his wound was bleeding again. Praxis was running out of time.
But what could she do? Where could she go? They were so far from any city of any consequence that the idea of getting him any aid was fleeting.
He would die out here and no one would know but she.
It was as she was looking around that Lysandra spotted him. A shepherd with his flock wasn’t that far away, and he seemed to have noticed her as well. He was moving toward her slowly, a look of confusion on his face.
Hoping for the best, Lysandra began to wave her arms.
“Help me please. Please, help!”
The shepherd wasn’t that much younger than Lysander. Lysandra guessed around fourteen or fifteen by the unblemished skin on his face, being devoid of any hair.
“Please, I need to help him,” she said, gesturing to Praxis. “He’s going to die if we do nothing. Do you know of any place we can take him? Or anyone? I’m desperate.”
The shepherd looked down at Praxis and then back at Lysandra. “I know a place. My village isn’t far. My grandfather can help him.”
Feeling her spirit buoyed by the thought of hope, Lysandra looked around for the village. “What direction?”
“That way,” he said, pointing north toward Mt. Oligyrtos. “But you’ll need to help me drag him. I can’t do it on my own.”
As such, the two of them were able to drag Praxis the distance to the village. They stopped on one of the slopes of the mountain, where a small house was situated. By the looks of it, its owner had intentionally kept it separate from the rest of the village. The shepherd ran inside, only to return moments later with an older man with a thick, white beard.
The old man took one look at Praxis’ wound and felt for his pulse. “How long has he been out like this?”
“Half an hour,” replied Lysandra. “Just long enough for us to drag him over here.”
“What happened to him?” asked the old man. “Who stabbed him? You?”
Lysandra shook her head furiously. “Someone who’s no longer alive. Can you help me? Can you fix it?”
The old man took a deep breath as he studied the wound. “It’s going to be very difficult. He should have gotten aid hours ago. How long has it been like this?”
“About two days, give or take.”
The man’s eyes went wide. “Two days?! And he’s still alive?”
Lysandra nodded silently.
“Well then, maybe he will survive,” he muttered. “But one thing is for certain right now. He’s standing on death’s door. I will do what I can to bring him back but if he decides to go through it, there is nothing anyone can do to bring him back. Do you understand?”
Lysandra swallowed heavily. “I don’t care what it takes. Please bring him back to me.”
The old man gestured for the shepherd to take him inside. “Come on, we need to get started.”
You are reading story The Argive at novel35.com
*****
Praxis wasn’t sure if he was dreaming or already dead.
He was awake by some odd standard but it was the kind of awake that he knew wasn’t real. The edges of this world were blurry and the colors were greatly distorted.
He also knew when he passed out, he’d been in the mountains of Arcadia. Now, he was on some otherworldly plane, surrounded by dull-gray fields of wheat.
In front of him was a great temple and he was beckoned inside by the sounds of music and laughter.
This had to be a dream. Nothing about this seemed right.
Making way into the temple, Praxis found that the wound on his stomach had disappeared. His hands made a frantic search to find the wretched hole but came up empty.
He’d been healed . . . but how?
For some reason, he found himself walking forward, entering the temple to see a wild party unfolding in front of him. There must have been at least thirty people in the room, split evenly between men and women. All of them were oblivious to him as if his appearance neither mattered nor existed.
To them, it was just about continuing the party.
Praxis found one group off to his left, consuming wines and olives and other treats, often holding out the morsel for their partner to enjoy. Just to their right, he found another group passing off wine like there was no more left of it in the world. They wouldn’t be stopped until they were thoroughly drunk, and nearly all of them were laughing in the process.
The last group was the most lively . . . and the most erotic. At least five pairs of men and women were coupling vigorously, spread out as they were on one giant cushion. All five of them were in different positions, and the women left no doubt as to how much they were enjoying the attention of their respective lover.
Just as suddenly as he arrived, all of the partners switched. As if some kind of timer had gone off, the men all rotated one position over, taking up with a new partner. This didn’t disappoint the women to any degree. Most of them let out exciting shrills at the first penetration of a new man.
“Thrilling, isn’t it?”
Praxis turned toward the sound of the voice, finding a younger man in front of him. He appeared not much older than Praxis, perhaps twenty-five if he had to guess but there was something about his eyes. His eyes held some kind of timeless wisdom that hinted at experience beyond counting. His hair was a shaggy mess of brown, covering his head in such a way that was appealing, without obscuring his best features.
A cloak was wrapped around his neck that managed to dangle across both shoulders before falling down his back. Other than the cloak, he was completely nude and unabashed in his modesty.
“Who are you?” asked Praxis, feeling like he should know the answer already.
The man grinned at him before taking another sip of wine. “Do you not know the answer to that already? You enter my temple, the temple of your family’s god, and still ask what my name is?”
It all made sense now. Praxis stood in front of him gape-jawed and confused but finally realizing the truth.
“It can’t be,” he muttered hoarsely. “Apollo? You’re the god, Apollo?”
“In the flesh,” replied Apollo. “And you’ve arrived at my party just in time. Perhaps you’d like some wine? Or perhaps you’d like something more erotic?”
Apollo gestured to a sixth woman, who had joined the other pairs and was currently without a partner. She was brazenly nude as well and her eyes were locked on Praxis. She muttered something too quietly for him to hear, but judging by the way her lips moved, Praxis knew the two words she uttered.
“Fuck me.”
Taking his eyes from her, he forced himself to look at Apollo once more.
“Why am I here?”
Apollo raised his hands. “Is it not obvious? You’re in my world now, Praxis. Or should I call you foreigner? You’ve gone by both names in your time in the other world.”
“Praxis is fine. And how is that obvious? Am I dead?”
“Close enough,” said Apollo before swishing his hand. Quite suddenly, Praxis found a full cup of wine in his hand. The smell was enticing and he found himself almost compelled to drink from it.
“Yes, that’s it,” said Apollo, pulling his head back and closing his eyes. “Drink from my essence. There is no more pain here, Praxis. No more war. No more death. In my domain, we only eat, drink, dance and fuck. Are they not the finer things in life?”
“Perhaps but it’s not everything,” countered Praxis.
“Is it not? Perhaps to another god but to me, the life of merriment is too perfect to reject. And now you’ve earned yourself a place by my side. I heard your vow from back in Argos, Praxis. When you promised me the souls of those two Spartans. I accepted your tribute and here we are. You can serve at my side for all eternity but I need you to do one thing for me.”
“What’s that?” asked Praxis.
“I need you to reject the militarism that you so cherish,” said Apollo sternly. “I have no need for matters of war here. I have no need for swords, only wine. Courage, honor, and duty mean nothing to me. Courage is allowing your partner to sleep with other men. Honor is refilling the cup of your enemy. And duty to me is never being the last one to get drunk. All of that is open to you now if you but seize it.”
Praxis was distracted by a feminine moan to his right. Looking over, he saw the sixth woman now engaged with one of the men. She was watching Praxis as she was fucked, her eyes rolling back to her head as his big phallus battered into her.
Suddenly, he felt Apollo’s hands on his shoulders.
“Go take her. Go take her anus,” he urged. “Show her a pleasure she never had in life.”
Praxis slipped out of his grasp. “This must be some mistake.”
Apollo didn’t like that response. The candles inside the temple flickered several times, matching the flaring nostrils of the god.
“I do not make mistakes, Praxis. Are you going to take my side or not?”
Confused about what was happening, Praxis was saved at the last minute. A bright ray of light descended from the temple ceiling, and a fully armored woman—a beautiful woman at that—descended while holding her spear. Her golden blonde hair shimmered just behind her, and the entire congregation stopped to watch her entrance.
“Stop right there, Apollo,” she said, brandishing her spear at him. “This mortal is mine.”
Apollo rolled his eyes at her and took another drink. “Well if it isn’t the great Athena here to spoil our fun.”