Prologue
Dear
Reader:
My
name is Antigone, the largely unfamous daughter overshadowed by an
infamous father, Oedipus. Yes, the Oedipus. The one that Freud
named a whole complex after. The one whose name has gone down in
history as the unfortunate fool who inadvertently did the absolutely
unthinkable. The one who killed his father and married his mother
then stuck brooches in his own eyes in a rampage of shame and horror.
Now there's a lesson in not messing with the plans of the gods.
However, being a dutiful daughter, I left my home, my life in Thebes,
my sister, and even the boy I loved, to lead my self-blinded and
thoroughly disgraced father around Greece until his death.
The
poets say that is my story, the truth of what happened. But, that is
not the whole story. It is only what everyone remembers thanks to
brilliant playwrights like Sophocles, whom the gods inspired to write
about me in order to protect themselves. That's right, the Olympian
gods themselves hid the truth. However, now, over three thousand
years later, their wrath and embarrassment has dissipated enough for
me to tell my story, the true story of my life.
Chapter 1
As
a princess of Thebes, my life was set out before me: learn to sew and
run a household, then get married, ideally creating a beneficial
political alliance. Basically, be a good girl, do what I was told,
and fulfil my duty to my family, my city, and the gods. Before the
dreams started I was barely getting by. After the gods started
visiting me regularly, I failed miserably.
The
visions started when I was sixteen. Even though it was over three
thousand years ago, the hair on the back of my neck still tingles
when I think of how the gods manipulated me, how the snakes reached
out to me, how I learned about the curses that plagued my family, and
how I came to realize my true power. My family was a plaything for
the gods, curses were tossed around carelessly like a worn out ball,
kicked for amusement.
In
my first dream-vision, I approached the temple of Apollo with a
modest offering, some cakes, fruit, and a small jug of wine, the
usual. The gods were a big part of our lives back then, and we
provided regular offerings in the hopes that they would look
favourably on us. Though these were no guarantee of divine goodwill,
it was certainly a step in the right direction. The gods had a nasty
habit of making life miserable for those who displeased them.
Sometimes really miserable. Nobody does vengeance like a slighted
Olympian god. Just look at how Artemis, Apollo's twin sister, sent a
monstrous, murderous boar to ravage the Calydon countryside when King
Oeneus neglected to honour Artemis during the annual harvest
ceremonies, as was her due.
In
my dream I walked along the road to the temple, a building which
dominated from Thebes' highest point atop the acropolis, overlooking
the walled city and its seven gates like a watchful parent. The
normally easy and gradual incline grew steep, far steeper than
normal. The well worn path became a treacherous uphill scramble as my
smooth leather sandals slipped and I lost my footing. Knowing that I
had to present my offering to Apollo, I dug in my toes and persisted
through my terror and confusion. I was determined. The gods demanded
their due and it was my duty to deliver it.
The
temple became virtually unreachable and I was forced to my hands and
knees, finessing each precious hand and foothold like a mountain
goat, clutching the offering basket in one hand and pulling myself up
with the other. I clung to the rocks on the sharp cliff face until my
nails broke and my hands were scraped raw. My peplos robe ripped;
mud, blood, and sweat stained the white, intricately embroidered
fabric. Branches tugged at me, scratched me, and yanked at the
jewelled combs that confined my hair in its tight knot until they
were yanked out and clattered down the steep slope and my dark curls
fell in my face, nearly blinding me. Even so, I continued inch by
agonizing inch. I had to get to the altar.
Struggling,
I reached the bottom wooden step just as the hill fell away into a
nearly vertical rock face. Grasping the stair just in time, I avoided
a deadly tumble down the cliff after my shattered combs. I swung my
arm to fling the offering basket and heard it crash as the contents
hit the unforgiving wood. Finally free to use both hands, I strained
every muscle to drag myself the rest of the way up and over the edge.
As I lay on the stair, smooth and polished from years of footfalls, I
caught my breath and thanked the gods to still be alive. Then I
examined my torn nails and dress, and ran my hands through my
disheveled hair. It crossed my mind that Sandrine, my personal slave
and nurse, would kill me if she saw me like this.
A
huge snake slithered through my spilled offering. I sprang to my feet
and gasped in recognition as the temple python drew closer, eying me
as if I were a potential meal. I had only ever seen it inside the
temple, its massive bulk stacked in powerful, heaping coils. Now, the
unmistakable albino python, ghostly white with caramel and burnt
orange coloured markings, stretched out to its full, muscular twenty
feet, its width easily thicker than my legs. It could easily wrap
itself around my body and squeeze the life out of me me if it chose
-- I had nowhere to run except to plunge from the cliff edge to
certain death. I froze and stared into the cold, reptilian eyes.
Nothing moved. I was like a mouse that had been cornered by a cat.
Would the serpent toy with me leisurely or kill me quickly?
As
I watched, the snake’s eyes changed. The albino pink darkened into
rich hazel brown and would have appeared human if not for the long
dark, vertical slits of the pupils. The snake examined my soul for a
dream-like eternity. Intuitively, I knew that it was the god Apollo
who looked at me though those emotionless, inhuman eyes. Every nerve
ending from my toes to my scalp electrified, rooting me in place.
The
snake broke our connection first. It hissed and flicked its forked
tongue, smelling my fear. “You dare to ruin my offering,”
the sacred snake spat. It swung its tail through the smashed cakes,
spoiled fruit, and shattered jug, scattering the contents.
“I-I-I...”
Beads of sweat dripped down through the dust on my face and I
clenched my hands together to stop them from trembling. I knew
better, even then, than to argue with the gods or to come up with
excuses, no matter how valid. The god didn't care about my perilous
journey up the hillside and I would undoubtedly, justifiably in
Apollo's eyes, be punished for this insult. After all, I had ruined
the offering. I fell to my knees in front of the snake, not even
trying to protect myself. My only hope was that he would accept my
penance. “I didn’t mean to, Lord Apollo. Please forgive me. I
will replace the offering, double it even.”
I
bowed my head, eyes averted from the snake. My stomach fluttered
anxiously and anticipation stole my breath as I braced for the worst,
fully expecting the snake to strike me at any moment, to feel my life
be squeezed away as the snake easily strangled me. The floor beneath
me swirled and my chest screamed for fresh air. I exhaled
deliberately to steady myself.
The
snake remained statue still for a full minute before I sensed it
stir. I looked up. It nodded then turned and slithered past the stone
altar toward the inside of the temple.
“You
recognize me and are pious. Come,” it demanded.
I
followed the snake, stunned and grateful to still be alive. As we
entered the cool of the temple, the imposing statue of Apollo loomed
over us, its colourfully painted wooden form standing at least twelve
feet high. The life-like brown eyes, uncannily reproduced in the
python's, stalked me as I made my way to the hole near the base of
the statue that the sacred python called home. It was eerily silent
in the temple, not even any of the normally ever-present priests
hovered around, going about their duties. Still, I felt a sense of
comfort which put me at ease, like I belonged there, and the knot in
my chest loosened slightly. The familiarity of the temple and the
statue reassured me, like coming into the safety of my own bedroom.
If the snake's intention had been to kill me, it could have done so
without difficulty outside. Surely a god would not strike me down in
the sanctity of his own temple.
The
python curled its immense bulk up effortlessly then eyed me
carefully. “Do you know why you are here?”
“To
bring an offering from my household,” I
replied.
“No."
The snake flicked its tail. "Why I summoned
you.”
“You
summoned me?” Why would
Apollo have wanted me? And under such mystifying circumstances.
“Of
course. Why else would you be here. Your family is the subject
of many oracles. Do you know what happens when humans attempt to
outsmart the gods?”
“Nothing
good,” I replied, brows furrowed. If the gods given prophesies
about my family, I didn’t know anything about them, which was
strange because usually predictions from the gods were well known and
celebrated. It was hard to imagine an oracle ever being hidden, even
a terrible one. A shiver wound its way up my spine, chilling me to my
core at the implications; the knot in my stomach tightened like a
noose.
“Exactly.”
The snake contemplated me for a minute. “You may be able to
help.”
“How?”
The question escaped my mouth. My chest burst with pride at the
prospect of helping the gods, of the prestige that would bring, of
maybe even adding to the glory of the heroic deeds preformed by my
father.
“I
expect obedience.”
“I
will serve the gods however I can.”
“Everyone
says that. But do you mean it? Really mean it?”
I
opened my mouth to answer, but Apollo interrupted me. “Do not
answer too quickly, girl. Think on this. The stain of blood on your
family’s hands is substantial. I may ask something considerable of
you. You need to listen to your heart. Are you strong enough? Others
will have to live with the consequences of your actions, just as you
have to live with the consequences of others’ actions. I am giving
you a chance to back out now, without blame or shame. You will not be
offered this chance again.”
What
was he talking about? What blood was on my family’s hands? This was
Apollo, an Olympian god, the son of Zeus, the Oracle himself. How
could I refuse anything he requested? What would happen to me if I
agreed and couldn't fulfill my promise?
The
laurel branch encircling Apollo's head gave me my answer. That is
what happened to those who spurned the gods. When Daphne went back on
her promise to Apollo, he turned into a laurel tree, a symbol he now
used to crown himself. Her shame became his glory. Our history was
full of stories like this, of the gods punishing mortals for their
misdeeds. The lesson was clear: do not trifle with the gods.
I
knew what I would answer. What I had to answer.
Sweat
dripped down my back, chilling me as it dampened my peplos. I
swallowed in a vain attempt to quench my dry throat. My knees nearly
buckled as I knelt becoming eye to eye with the colossal snake. It's
tongue darted out from between its razor like teeth and brushed
against my cheek. “I will do what you ask, my lord, though I
don’t know how I could possibly help one as great as you.”
The
snake inclined its head. “You can start by bringing me a proper
sacrifice tomorrow. Something fit for a snake and not the priests who
populate this temple.”
The
giant python blinked and its eyes returned to their normal albino
pink. The god was gone.
Love the way you get right into the action. Can't wait to read the next installment!
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