Sex, violence, and Greek gods—an epic fantasy in the vein of
Gene Wolfe or Tim Powers.
If Pythias reads the future in the sun one more time, he
could go blind; instead, he uses detective skills to solve the problems of
Golden Age Athens. Then two charming but ruthless princes engage in a titanic
battle to become the next incarnation of Dionysus. The contagion of the gods is
loose again. As a member of a secret society known as the Sons of Prometheus,
Pythias must find a way to stop the demigods or the nations of the Mediterranean will be drawn into war. A witch and a
horse-legged silenus guide them through the secrets behind the Greek legends in
an odyssey that travels to the fabled island of the Gorgons and beyond.
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paperback on lulu
SAMPLE of Contagion of the Gods
Prologue
Chapter 1 – A Dangerous Customer
Buy at Amazon
paperback on lulu
SAMPLE of Contagion of the Gods
Copyright 2012 Scott Rhine
Prologue
The tombs by the entrance
to Athens
reminded Pythias that all his visions had ended badly. The mud-caked, thirteen-year-old
orphan boy had been starving until the priest, Apollonius, found and renamed him.
Even
in the flowering of spring, the Sacred Gate was hostile and formidable to a
first-time visitor. The road led into the busiest, most crowded part of the
city. People who saw the distinguished priest’s white mantle and golden, linen tunic
parted the sea of commerce for him. With his brisk, determined stride,
Apollonius dragged the boy past more shrines for honored city heroes and
countless market stalls.
The
boy’s eyes, the golden-brown color of dark mead, came to life when they passed
into the shadow of a rocky outcropping. “That must be the biggest mountain in
the world.”
Apollonius
smiled. “That’s the Acropolis. We’re still repairing the damage from the last
sacking; nonetheless, it inspires awe, boasting louder than words how indomitable
the Athenian people are.” He had a rich speaking voice. Although he tended to
lecture, he also showed kindness.
“They have a marketplace for everything: fish,
pigs, wine, horses, olive oil, and even slaves.” Pythias saw more coins change
hands in a single transaction than existed in the tiny fishing village of his
birth.
“This is the Agora,” Apollonius proclaimed.
“Here, one can find everything that makes Athens
great.”
Yet even in the middle of the market, there were
still more graves and shrines than trees. Captured Persian shields hung on
display in a place his new guardian referred to as the Hall of Victories.
Below, a man painted battle scenes on the wall in minute detail.
Then Pythias saw the fountain room. “People drink
water that pours from the wall! This is amazing. Do all your homes hold such
wonders?”
The priest laughed. “Just the public places.”
This was
the most the boy had spoken in the past week. The orphan was small for his age
and spent more time staring at clouds than playing with other children. This,
together with his quietness, led the people in the remote fishing village to
believe the boy was an idiot. However, when Apollonius had paused in his public
benediction, the boy had supplied the words from the year before. Declaring it
a sign, the priest inducted him as an acolyte that day. “We have been
sight-seeing long enough. It is time to take you to the temple and introduce
you.”
Walking a short distance, Apollonius swept his
hand toward a magnificent, round building made of honey-colored stone. The
forest of columns and the massive statue of the god Apollo out front added to
the grandeur. “Behold, the Temple
of Apollo Patroos
“What if it's raining? How do you know what time
it is?” Pythias asked.
“There is a clock in the Metroon that runs on
water. Before that, we used marked candles. Come inside, I am eager to present
you.”
The interior of the temple, though vast, was much
smaller than Pythias would have thought from its exterior. Apollonius led him
into a back room, where three other priests were gathered. “Gentlemen,” he
announced. “I have returned with a miracle.”
The three stopped their meal and stared while
Apollonius continued. “We are all of divine heritage, sons of Apollo, but I
bring into our brotherhood one who has inherited his Gift. This boy, whom we
shall call Pythias, has the Sight.”
One gasped, one laughed, and the
other choked on the bite he had been chewing. “I heard rumors in the outer
townships of a boy who had seen the future. Since we needed an oracle in Athens , I went to
investigate. When I discovered him, he was filled with wisdom beyond his years,
and look into his eyes. He bears the mark.”
The laughing priest leaned close and stared. “He
has a double-pupil in his left eye. How odd. That must mean the second
sight. You have honored our city, Apollonius. You may now assume the role of
high priest with our blessing.” Then he introduced the boy to all of them.
Pythias was too nervous to remember any of them
except the one who glared in anger. The one called Theophrastos complained, “We
don't have room for another priest.”
Apollonius shrugged. “Once he is trained, I
intend for him to take over the small Oracular temple by the Ilissos, the
Pythion. Until then, he can stay with me and my wife.”
“Just one minute. He might have poked the boy's
eye with a stick and made up the rest. You're just going to give Apollonius the
mantle I worked all these years for? No. There must be a test.”
Apollonius shook his head. “The boy is young and
must be trained in the holy ways before he can assume the duties of oracle. We
should not rush him.”
However, the others all agreed to the test, not
because they cared about the petty jealousies of Theophrastos, but because deep
inside they wanted to touch the fringe of the supernatural. Despite all their
years serving the Sun god, not one of them had experienced the undeniable hand
of the divine. “It's only fair,” they all reiterated.
Apollonius replied, “What would we ask? What
supplicants in the last month have needed a soothsayer?”
After much consultation, the group decided to
speak to the chief magistrate to see if there was a mystery they could resolve
as a matter of civic service, a matter that only the gods would know. To
demonstrate his piety, and because it couldn't hurt, the chief magistrate
directed them to his hardest case of the week. “In the poor markets of the
city, a certain Doric family has been making urns for years. All four brothers
do their part. The youngest one digs the clay. The next one shapes them. The
one after that bakes them and paints them. The oldest one, Philip, sells their
wares in the Agora once a month, and they all split the money equally. Because
the work is seasonal, the profit for two seasons must last their family the
entire year. Well, after they sold the batch for this spring, some foreign
thief followed Philip home. The criminal clubbed him over the head, and ran off
with the money. Philip's wife saw the whole thing, but by the time the other
brothers chased the foreigner down, he’d hidden their money where no one would
find it. The pots he purchased here had already been claimed by his countrymen
and filled with other merchandise, so we couldn’t seize them for the debt. We
searched their ship and found no sign of the stolen coins.”
Apollonius stroked his narrow beard. “I see your
quandary. The law of Drakon is quite clear in the case of homicide and theft. However,
if you carry out the sentence without finding the money, the family will suffer.
The boy and I will talk to this criminal in his cell. Perhaps we will be able
to help.”
When the magistrate escorted them to the holding
chambers, the guard said, “Talking won't do any good with that one. We've
tried. If the filthy foreigner bothers either of you in any way, just say the
word, and I'll let my club talk some sense into him.”
The small room stank, and the spindly, dark man
in the corner of the room crouched like an animal. Apollonius tried to coax the
man forth. “My good thief—”
The convicted criminal spat at Apollonius. “I not
thief! Merchant thief.” The foreigner's accent was very thick and his speech
filled with mistakes.
Apollonius shook a finger. “You were apprehended
in the thieves' market. This of itself is enough to condemn you.”
“I need buy things cheap,” the man said
indignantly. “All your prices too high. If you have place just for thieves to
sell, why you not arrest them?”
“Because no one has complained about them. They
didn't kill a member of anyone's family,” Apollonius explained.
“I not kill!” said the foreigner.
“Yet the wife identified you. You followed Philip,
the urn merchant, home.”
The man nodded. “Yes. He sell me pot with crack.
The wax hide it until I put it on my cart. Then I see and get very mad.”
“Mad enough to kill him?”
“No! I just want the money,” the prisoner said.
“And when he refused to give you the bread off
his family's table, you used force. You hit him on the head and ran off with
the money. Where did you hide it?”
“I not hit any man with bread. I go to house to
get money back for bad pot. At door of house, naked lady scream at me. Crazy.
Hit with (mumble). I run.” The foreigner was quite emotional about his
assertions, but young Pythias had a far-away look in his eyes as if he were
concentrating on something in the street beyond.
Apollonius shook his head. “You don't expect us
to believe a fable like that?”
“No, he's
telling the truth,” the boy interrupted.
The priest's jaw dropped. “How can you tell?”
Pythias waved the question away. “My mother
taught me how. But that's not important. Ask him again about what she hit him
with. I couldn't understand him.”
When prompted to clarify, the prisoner pantomimed
digging a hole in the floor.
“A spade,” announced Apollonius, and the man
nodded.
Pythias thanked the man for his time, much to the
puzzlement of the prisoner, and told his guardian, “I'm ready to go now.”
Once outside the prison, the priests clustered
around him, abuzz. The laughing priest was delighted. “So now Apollo shows you
where the treasure is buried. We give the proof to the magistrate, the man is
executed, and the family will be saved.”
“Not necessarily,” said the boy.
“What's the matter? Can't scry the past? Or
perhaps the man hid the money where the sun doesn't shine?” Theophrastos
mocked. “This is your one chance; we won't pick another test.”
The boy ignored him and spoke to Apollonius. “If
that poor man in there is telling the truth, then someone else is lying. I need
to talk to the widow.”
“I might
be able to arrange that if you can resolve this by sundown services,” said
Apollonius.
Pythias spoke with a voice of confidence and
rationality beyond his years. “I can't guarantee the help of the gods, but I'm
pretty sure about people. This time, let me ask the questions, though.”
Apollonius chuckled as he acceded, placing the
burden of failure solely on the boy’s shoulders. However, any success his
prodigy achieved would be shared. This exchange set the tone for the rest of
their relationship.
An hour later, they were in the widow's home
seated on cushions. A court clerk, rented for the afternoon, had accompanied
the group to give their claims legitimacy. Apollonius made polite conversation
and performed introductions while Pythias watched the family. The widow was
much younger than her former husband, and though veiled, was still pretty. She
flirted subtly with every man in the room.
Uneasy, the woman agreed to cooperate with the young
oracle. “I’ve already told the magistrates everything. Several of my neighbors
supported me.”
“You left out some details,” said Pythias. “Why
were you naked when the foreigner arrived at your door?”
Every man in the room bristled at the indignity,
but the woman failed to blush. “A child like you wouldn’t understand what happens
between a man and a woman.” The youngest brother had well-muscled arms from his
labor and hovered over the widow protectively. At a word, the brothers would
throw the priests and the court clerk out into the street. She was hoping to
embarrass Pythias and make him retract his question, but he stood firm. “My
husband came home from the market early that day, and he found me in the
bedroom upstairs. My beloved was atop me when someone came through the door
unexpectedly. The men exchanged cross words while I covered myself out of
modesty. The last time I saw my husband alive, his face was ashen with a look
of shock. Then he tumbled down the stairs to his death. After I found my
husband dead, I was outraged and chased the foreigner out of my home.”
Everything she said was scrupulously true, but
she was still hiding something. “So you never actually saw the foreign man
strike your husband?”
“No,” she admitted, “but he’s just as dead. I
didn’t need to see it happen.”
“Did you actually see the foreign man in your
bedroom?” asked Pythias.
“Not clearly, but he was in the hall beside my
husband. He was the only man who entered the house after my husband. My
neighbors will swear. Who else could it have been? Whose side are you on?” The
brothers moved their circle tighter around her.
“The truth—that is what you are seeking. Did you
actually see the foreigner carry the money away?”
“No, but he admits that he came to our home to
take it from my husband. The jury convicted him.”
Pythias stood. “The jury was wrong. The foreigner
didn’t rob you. I’m going to the Pythion Temple of Apollo. There, the gods will
reveal the money's hiding place as your family has asked. When we find the
money, it will reveal who the real criminal is.”
The brothers, priests, and clerk all flocked
behind Pythias as he left the house. Only the widow stayed behind, being too
weakened by her grief to make the trip across the city. Not twenty strides from
the door, Pythias pulled Apollonius aside and whispered. “Send a priest and the
clerk to watch the widow. She’ll lead you to the true villain in this tale. Two
impartial witnesses will be enough to force her confession later.”
“On what basis do you make this claim?” asked
Apollonius.
“She didn't say there wasn't already a man in the
house before her husband came home unexpectedly, and she never said her husband
was the man she was making love to,” Pythias explained in private.
“I cannot trust the others. I will go myself.
Will the scrying be a ruse?” asked Apollonius.
“No, it wouldn’t be a fair test otherwise. But if
we want to catch the culprit in the act, you must watch the wife. An oracle's
word alone is not enough to overturn the verdict of a jury.”
Apollonius excused himself to the others,
claiming that he had to escort the clerk back to his office and didn't want the
others thinking he was coaching the boy. Theophrastos led the way to the small
shrine of Apollo. It had a large bronze statue out front, and the front path
was overgrown with laurel. The message ‘KNOW THYSELF’ was chiseled in large
letters across the front, but everyone ignored it in their haste to begin the
ceremony.
“How does scrying work?” asked Theophrastos.
“I get in the proper mood, ask my question, and
stare at the sun until I see a picture, or several. The picture will be a
tableau that holds the answer to my question if I know how to interpret it.”
The pressure made matters difficult, but Pythias forced himself to perform
regardless. He knew the widow was guilty; this would be a mere formality.
The braziers were lit and Pythias breathed in the
holy fumes. Under the intense scrutiny of the three surviving brothers of the
victim and two priests, young Pythias eventually attained the proper state. Then,
he walked to the front of the temple, aimed his head up, and opened his eyes.
The images came faster than ever before, and he pulled back from their
intensity. There was more the gods wanted to show him, but he could not
maintain the contact.
“No! It wasn't supposed to end like that,”
Pythias shouted as he covered his eyes. Even from this brief exposure, he had
spots blocking his vision and needed to prop himself against a pillar to stand.
“What did you see?” demanded his audience.
“Something I wish I hadn’t. Your sister-in-law
hid the money down a well. Your brother surprised her in the act of infidelity
and, dumbfounded, fell backwards down the steps. No one would believe that she
and her lover didn't kill him on purpose, so she hid the money to lend credence
to the theft story. The poor foreigner was just in the wrong place at the wrong
time.”
“Liar!” shouted the potter. “You saw no such
thing.”
Pythias stumbled into the temple and sat down. “What
I saw was the widow getting caught. Rather than reveal the partner in her
adultery, she’ll throw herself down the well. It’ll happen very soon, if it
hasn't already. In visions like this, it's always too late to stop the death.”
“We must try!” said one of the brothers, running
from the temple. Soon, everyone except Theophrastos and the clay digger had
abandoned Pythias.
At the doorway, Theophrastos asked, “Aren't you
going?”
“No,” said the muscular brother. “I wanted to
have a few words with the oracle.”
Pythias went cold inside. The shovel! “You were her partner. The two of you—” he began,
frantically trying to blink the spots out of his eyes.
The digger punched him in the face so hard it
broke his nose. What little sight he had regained was gone again as the blood
began to flow. The adulterous brother looked up at Theophrastos and said, “What
are you staring at?”
Theophrastos looked at the bleeding boy. “A
smart-ass, little bastard who cost me my life's work. Don't worry. I'll leave
you two alone. As long as he doesn't die, I'll swear you left with me. If he had
just kept his mouth shut, the money and the woman would have been yours.” From
the front steps, the departing priest said, “Think about this, Pythias, before
you ruin another man's life.”
That's when the beating began in earnest.
An acolyte of Pankrates the Healer interrupted the
criminal soon after or the damage might have been fatal. In spite of the
healer's efforts, however, the boy's facial disfigurement was permanent.
Theophrastos disappeared from the city. The court
threw the clay digger into the chasm on Nymph Hill for his crimes, and no
matter how much the magistrates pleaded, Pythias never scried concerning legal
matters again.
Chapter 1 – A Dangerous Customer
Pythias tried to
convince his prospective client that he did not
need an answer from the gods. “I have a talent, some say a gift, for scrying. Yet
each time I look into the sun, my blindness lasts a little longer. Before my
twenty-fifth birthday I shall be totally sightless. Then I will need to rely on
my savings and the kindness of strangers.”
He
led the client around the picturesque hill of the Muses above Athens . To one side sat the memorial tombs of
visionaries and philosophers, and to the other lay the small Oracular temple he
presided over—the Pythion. “But you know, sir, that strangers are rarely kind,
and a blind man’s possessions are of little worth without loyal servants to
guard them. The greatest joys of my present life are reading and the theater. For
the rest of my life, I would need people to read to me and describe the world
I’ve lost. Ask yourself, what answer could you possibly need that could induce
me to suffer the intense pain, days of recovery, and ultimately sacrifice the
only things I hold dear in this world?” Then he glanced over to see if his list
of risks had any effect on the man.
However, Captain Marius of Naxos
didn’t appear to be listening. Instead, he was staring at Pythias’ bent nose
and cauliflower ear, the only features the bristly beard couldn’t hide. He
seemed most fascinated by the double pupil of Pythias’ left eye, signifying the
second sight—the gift of Apollo. Pythias knew he was ugly. In stark contrast,
the young Marius was beautiful and charismatic, with a curly, blue-black
mane and no sleeves on his shirt to better show off his rippling muscles. The shirt
was woven with a rampant lion symbol on the front and a bull on the back. Oddly,
Marius wore black leather gauntlets, each with seven bracelets of encircling metal.
At his hip, he carried a coiled whip.
Ignoring the rude stare, Pythias continued, “If
it’s about love, I care not for the leading of your loins—though you look to
have no trouble in that regard. If it be war, I’ll not shorten my life just to
help you shorten another’s. If it is about a trial, the gods made it clear that
I should not meddle in matters of law. What could you, to whom fate has handed
so much, ask of me that would be worth what I would lose?”
Marius hesitated before replying, “My life and
the lives of my people. You’ve convinced me that you are a true seer. I’ve come
to plead for your help.”
“Tell me more.”
“It’s highly sensitive. If I tell you, you must
do the reading immediately.”
“If it is to be done at all, it should be done at
the equinox two days hence atop the Acropolis. In addition to my price, you
would need a sacrifice for Athena.”
“Pardon me, I’m new to this matter of prophecy. What
has Athena to do with this?”
What Pythias neglected to tell his clients was
that he had inherited his mother’s talent as a sooth-sayer. He could tell when
people were lying to him. This man’s rich tones hid a lie like a stinking
corpse. “Athena has little; her priests have everything. They require tribute. If
this offends you, there are plenty of other fortune-tellers around.”
Marius frowned. “Charlatans and thieves all.”
“Was one of these thieves from the Temple of Poseidon
Marius’ cheeks darkened. “Yes. He took my money,
did the reading, but refused to speak the augury.”
“Water can be temperamental to read. What did he
give as his excuse?”
“When pressed, he said I was cursed.”
“So you killed him?”
“Yes.”
Pythias stepped back. “Sir, don’t let your shadow
touch mine. I want no part of your crimes.”
“I’ve been given a holy mission. If I don’t
succeed in joining what’s been riven, my people shall be pushed into the sea,
and our lush farm land salted. Our men shall be killed, and our women carried
away as slaves.”
When this argument didn’t sway Pythias, Marius
pulled out a scroll. The parchment was a land grant, a deed. “If you scry for
me, Apollo will gain. My family has much land on the blessed island of Naxos
Pythias considered the seductive offer. “I’ll
give you my answer tomorrow. Sometimes it’s not necessary to scry. Sometimes
the gods answer a righteous man’s prayers.”
As he placed the deed back in its bone carrying
tube, Marius smiled. “To be sure, I know little about righteousness or prayer,
but I’ll visit the temple at sundown tomorrow.”
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