Queen of the Seas

Queen of the Seas-3

With blurred vision, she stared at the quarter moon. How could that man do such a horrible thing to her father? Even if her father had sold the fish to another, he did so for a good reason. Helping their mother with her pain was a good reason for such a thing. Gaspar couldn’t have needed the coin that badly. Maybe her father should have told the man the problem, and then perhaps this wouldn’t have happened.

No, she quickly shook that thought from her head. A man that would do something like this would not have been so kind, even if he had pretended to be nice to her. That’s all it had been, an act. He was not kind at all. He was cruel, deceitful, and a monster.

Fresh tears stung her already puffy eyes. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have fallen so quickly for the false kindness Gaspar had shown her? How had she been so blind to the looks her father had given her, silent warnings to her not to be so trusting?

“I am sorry, Father—I am a fool,” she muttered to the night.

As if in answer, something soft and damp touched the back of her neck. She jumped and spun around, throwing her hands in the air, hoping to fend off the attack. But there was no attack coming as a dusty grey mare shook its head in greeting, almost as if to say sorry for scaring her.

“You silly thing.” She sighed in relief and was as near to a laugh as she could muster.

She held her hand out to the horse so that it could smell it. But the animal needed no more persuasion before quickly pushing its nose under the offered palm, eager for the scratches to come.

“You heard me talking, didn’t you?” she cooed, getting behind the horse’s ear. “What do you think? What should I do? I feel so helpless.”

The horse pulled back and whined, stomping its front hoof into the soft ground as it shook its head.

“If only I spoke horse.” She turned to continue her way home when a spark of a flame ignited within a small copse a hundred feet from the road.

“What was that?” she whispered. “Someone is in there.”

Without thinking, she made her way off the road in the direction she had seen the flame. The glow was faint through the thick trees and would be easily missed from the road by anyone, but she had seen it start and knew it was there, so she navigated through the tangle of trees and thorny underbrush.

Several minutes passed, and still, she followed the pale glow further into the thicket. She looked back the way she had come and thought it strange that she had seen it from the road. From where she stood, she could see no trace of the road or anything beyond thick tree trunks and their gnarled branches.

Turning back to the flame guiding her path, it almost seemed brighter than she remembered.

You’ve come too far to turn back now.

You’ve come too far to turn back now.Callisto paused, wondering where that voice had come from or if it had been in her head. She was certain it had been a male voice, but now she wasn’t sure if she had heard anything.

Soon she pushed her way into a small clearing, and a loud gasp escaped her lips. The moon"s pale light shone straight down upon the clearing, basking an ancient, weather-worn marble statue before her in an almost ghostly glow.

A single black candle’s flame danced beneath the fiercely proud warrior, twice the size of an average man. The ground before him was littered with dozens of what looked like small animal bones.

The statue stood defiant as if, no matter the odds, he would win without a doubt. Firmly in his left arm was a cracked and aged shield. His right arm pointed to the sky but was empty as if the weapon he should have held was missing. The armor was like nothing Callisto had ever seen before. Even though the weather had worn most of the details away, she could tell it was impressive.

“Who are you,” Callisto whispered, running her fingers along the bottom edge of the shield, “and what is this place?”

She couldn’t believe that she and her brothers or the town"s other children had never found this place before.

“That is the mighty Ares, the Greek god of war,” a raspy voice said from behind her, “and this dear child is one of his long-forgotten shrines.”

Callisto spun around so quickly that she lost her footing and fell to the hard earth. “Who are you? Leave me alone!” she cried, pushing her way back to the tree line she had entered, sure she was about to be r***d or murdered for her foolishness in wandering here.

“Calm yourself, my child. I did not mean to startle you, and I certainly mean you no harm.” A cloaked figure emerged from the shadows behind the statue.

The man pulled the hood back, revealing his ancient age. Wisps of matted hair clung to his sunbaked skull, and in the light, she could see one of his eyes was milky white with blindness.

Callisto almost scolded herself for her cowardliness. This old man wouldn’t be able to harm her even if he wanted to. Quickly she regained her feet and brushed herself off. “Who are you, and what are you doing out here?”

“So bold for one so young. The gods do ever so favor the bold.” He chuckled. “My name is Yaalon, and my homeland is far from here in one of the greatest countries on earth. Greece.”

He moved over to a small wooden bench with the help of a twisted cane and sat down with an audible grunt. “Where the gods like Ares once ruled everything the sun touched. As to what I am doing here, I am honoring a beloved god from my homeland. A god that still walks this world, even if the masses no longer believe in him and his kind.” He tapped his blinded eye. “It may not be good for seeing things of this world anymore, but it has granted me a vision of what others cannot always see.”

“I have heard of Greece before,” Callisto replied, stepping closer to the statue. “Several of the fishermen in town have talked about going there.”

“Aye, many who travel the seas would have no doubt been to Greece. It was once the strongest trading nation in all the world. Even still, it supplies the world much of what it enjoys.”

“What is with all the bones around him?” she asked nervously, trying impossibly hard not to stare at Yaalon’s dead milky eye.

“Unlike this new, Christian god, the gods of old required sacrifice and offerings to those who worshipped them before they would consider bestowing their favors,” he explained.

“And what do you ask him for?” Callisto knew very little about any gods. Her father and mother always told her it was best to avoid talk of the gods, lest someone thought you a heretic. But needing some form of payment before asking such a mighty being for a favor made sense to her.

Yaalon’s smile was crooked and rotten but showed humble kindness. “I ask for happiness, long life, protection for the family I left behind, and he one day allows me entry into the Elysian Fields when I finally walk the dark road.”

“And does this god, Ares, ever answer you?”

The old man chuckled. “I am still alive and have yet to meet anyone as old as me, and I am happy enough. The rest, I have no way of knowing until it happens.” He paused. “What is such a young thing like yourself doing out here so late? Surely you have a straw bed you should be in, and a mother and father likely worried sick about your whereabouts.”

He looked her up and down as if for the first time. “And with the amount of dried blood and dirt upon you. I would say they would have great reason to be worried.”

With a deep sigh, she told the stranger what had transpired that day and how she had come to find the shrine. She didn’t know why she told him, but it felt right to do so. Felt good to tell someone who wasn’t involved.

The old man whistled in genuine shock. “That is some grave tidings, little one. Far graver than anyone of your age should ever have to bear witness to. Maybe it was Ares who had me spark that candle at the perfect moment you would see it.”

Callisto stared at the god"s imposing figure, giving her an idea. “Do you think he would help me if I asked him?”

Yaalon shrugged his bony shoulders. “That I cannot answer. No one truly knows the will of the gods, for they are capricious and devious at the best of times. But,” he held up his hands, “it could not hurt to try.”

She was about to speak when she stopped, looked at the bones on the ground, and felt her insides drop suddenly. “I—I have nothing to offer him.”

Smiling his crooked yellow smile again, Yaalon reached into a sack he had on his belt and pulled out a bound hare. “Here, you may use mine this night.”

“But what will you offer him?” she asked, wanting to accept his offer but not wanting to steal away his gift to the god.

“Such a caring child. Do not fret about me. I have come here often enough and offer all that I can spare. Tonight, my offering to the great god of war will be helping you.” He held out the hare for her to take. “I can think of no better offering I could give him.”

She took the wriggling creature and stared back at the altar, almost feeling foolish now. If this kind of thing worked, more people would still do it. Her mind flashed to her father—the hatchet—the blood—her resolve fortified once more. “What is it I must do?”

Yaalon came to her aid. “Kneel before him and lower your head, he is a god, and you should feel humbled to be in his presence. Now hold out your offering as if you expect him to take it from your very hands.”

He handed her a small bronze knife. “Cut the hare"s throat and let the blood drip into the earth by his feet. Close your eyes, clear your mind of everything but what you want to ask him. Do not think about what you want; you must feel what you want, then ask it while placing the offering before his feet.”

Callisto took the knife and held it to the hare’s neck as it struggled to get free. With a quick jerk, its lifeblood began to spill out onto the earth, and within moments its frantic kicking stopped. Clearing her mind was more challenging than she expected, but soon she let out a deep breath, and the words of her soul poured out.

“I want vengeance for what Gaspar did to my papa. I want him to suffer for what he has done! I want to see his life and blood drain from his fat body! I want to kill him!”