Oracles of Delphi - Chapters 1 - 6

"It's hard to believe you've been able to keep Papa's secret a whole year." 

"A year?" Theron headed for the door. "That's nothing, my dear. I've got secrets I've kept for a lifetime. Now get dressed. Praxis has already left and we're keeping Menandros waiting." 

"Theron, how is he, Praxis? I'm around him every day, but I feel I hardly know him anymore. He's changed since Papa died. He was always quiet, but now...."  

"Perhaps Nephthys will cheer him up." Theron chuckled. 

Aithera sighed and looked back out the window. 

"It's hard to let go of a dream, isn't it?" Theron said. 

She blushed. "Childhood dreams die hard, even when you know they can never be. But for Aphrodite's sake, I'm a married woman, now. Maybe Nephthys is exactly what Praxis needs." 

"What do you need, Aithera of Athens?" 

"I need a different husband, or, the gods forbid, no husband at all. But, since I'm not going to get that, I want to stop mourning, stop being sad. I want to start living again." 

Theron pointed toward the clear blue sky out the window. "It's a fine day to start a new life." 

CHAPTER 3

Phoibe stood waist-deep in the icy Kastalian Spring, her himation floating around her like a red cloud. Her feet were numb, she could barely feel her legs, and she knew her skin would soon be as red as flame from the cold. Her eyes were closed, lips moving silently, automatically reciting the sacred liturgy as Melanippe of Dodona, priestess of Zeus Naios, God of the Springs, and Gaia, Mother of All, crushed the laurel and kannabis leaves and sprinkled them into the fire. The air in the grove was clear and cold, and as the pungent smoke rose from the coals, it mixed with scents of myrtle, laurel, cypress and pine, of moist earth and the first hints of spring. Phoibe breathed in deeply. Where is Charis?  

She opened her eyes to a world as ancient as time and yet now born anew. Dawn broke and light moved through the treetops, speckling the ground with shadow. She rippled her fingers across the clear surface and watched her reflection bob and weave on the water. How long had the sacred spring of Kastalia flowed? How many had bathed in the waters of Gaia? More than anyone could count. Maybe more than the gods could count. For endless generations, Phoibe's family had lived and farmed on the plain between Arachova and Delphi. The water, the stones, the very dirt beneath her feet, was like her blood, her bones, her flesh.  

But she was different from the others in her family. And she was different from that night, over twenty years ago, when she was named and chosen as an apprentice to the Pythia of the Oracle of Gaia.When she was taken from her family and given to the goddess.  

She'd heard the story a thousand times. How Sofia, the old Pythia of Gaia, had dropped her into the cistern and how she had surfaced several heart-wrenching moments later, sputtering, eyes wide, fat little arms flailing against the water. After her mother, Rhea was her name, dried, warmed and comforted her at her breast, Sofia had taken her in her arms, opened her fists and traced the lines on her plump palms. Then Sofia had closed her eyes and said:  

This child shall be called Phoibe, like the Titan of old, Apollon's own grandmother. 

She will see the Oracles of Apollon and Gaia united or she will see them destroyed 

And the Sacred Precinct claimed by yet another. 

Phoibe smiled when she thought of how the priestesses claimed the snakes tattooed on Sofia's arms had come to life, writhing across her skin as if in celebration-or fear-of the woman's words. Now Sofia had crossed the Styx. The apprenticeship was over and she, Phoibe of Arachova, was the newly named Pythia of Gaia, high priestess of the most powerful oracle of all. But where is Charis? My friend, my confidant. My handmaid should be here with me. Where is she?