Kryptic ↟ Deimos

seventeen: ashes to ashes

She recognizes the physician though he does not know her. "Hippokrates?" Lesya queries, stepping up to the table where there is an array of herbs and oils. He does not frequent the sanctuary often as many consider his methodologies impious, but it is a quicker journey here than to Argos for the assortment of herbs he needs to continue treating patients near the Cave of Pan.

The physician turns —eyes quickly skimming over the woman though he finds no indication of sickness or injury. "What ails you?" He asks.

Lesya thinks about the mother and child and knows this is folly. "I," she starts but then shakes her head, "it's nothing."

Hippokrates has heard rumors from the soldiers he's treated of a demigoddess who bears an eerie resemblance to the woman before him —copper hair and laurel eyes and something harsh and cold in her expression. He is certain this is Enyo, a weapon for the Cult of Kosmos.

But now, her expression is softened, filled with pain and longing. The physician looks over his shoulder, following her gaze to a mother and child. "They took your choice," he surmises and Lesya nods, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I know what you seek," Hippokrates tells her, "but I cannot help you nor can any other physician." What was done could not be undone unless by the hand of Asklepius and Eileithyia.

KASSANDRA DISPELLS WHAT she has learned from Hippokrates and the priests in the sanctuary upon finding Lesya wandering about the Epidauros sanctuary temple at dusk. Everything brings her to a single conclusion. The priestess, Chrysis, had lied to Myrrine that night about her son's death and taken Alexios as her own —turning him into Deimos, a weapon. "You must know something, Lesya," the Eagle Bearer pleads, remembering she had mentioned the old priestess before.

She looks at her hands —Midas' blood still stains her nails. It has been many years since Chrysis had brought her children to Argos, but the path through the forest is ingrained in her memory. "There's a temple on Mount Kynortion near the Altar of Apollo Maleatas," Lesya announces, "she takes the children there." Kassandra nods, clasping Lesya on the shoulder in thanks. They have work to do before the sun rises.

Splayed out on the altar is a dead eagle —a warning. Ikaros lands on the feet of Apollo, staring down at his butchered kin before taking to the skies again. In the still air, both Lesya and Kassandra can hear the piercing cries of a child. The Temple. Lesya motions for the Eagle Bearer to follow —they both creep through the underbrush, keeping low and out of sight.

Before the small temple are two Cult guardians and within is the child. Kass frees the curved bow on her back and nocks an arrow, aiming at the man furthest from their position. Lesya keeps her attention focused on the other. The arrow sails through the air, finding its mark in the neck of the guardian, a second later Lesya bursts from the underbrush —dual blades moving in a fury. She straightens, and the severed head of the last guard rolls off his shoulders to the ground. Each of them had fallen without a sound.

Kassandra kicks open the doors to the temple. The air is heavy the scent of herbs and myrrh and lying on the altar is a babe crying for its mother. Chrysis stands above the child —knife in hand— when her gaze is drawn to Deimos' sister and her child. "Killing seems to run in your bloodline, oh mighty Eagle Bearer," the old crone rasps.

The misthios takes another step into the small temple, but Lesya is rooted in at the doors —frozen with ire. Her feet are only spurred into motion by a burst of flames licking at her skin. Chrysis flees, leaving the child to perish in the fire. Kass scoops up the baby and Lesya bounds through the heat, seizing the knife the priestess had wielded —she is not yet out of sight, out of range. Lesya rears her arm back, launching the short dagger into the air. It catches Chrysis' calf and sends her headlong into the dirt. "Is this how you repay me for what I made you?" Chrysis screeches, but it turns into a sharp scream when Lesya twists the blade, pulling it free from bone and muscle.

The Eagle Bearer stands over Chrysis now too, but her gaze is focused on Lesya. There is dark hatred and hunger glinting in her green eyes mirroring how she'd looked after slitting Leandros' neck in Athens. This is the woman who caused so much pain for her and Deimos —the monster who stole children from families and tormented them until they died or were turned into a hollow shell. The Eagle Bearer steps aside, keeping her sandal on Chrysis' torso should the old priestess try running from her fate. "You deserve this more than I do," she notes and Lesya nods, fingers curling around the bloody hilt of the knife.

The old crone laughs at her lost child —trying so hard to become something she isn't. "Even though you try running from it, you can't. You're a killer," Chrysis hisses, "that's what I made you." Lesya's face twists in anger as she crouches down. Shame Deimos can't be here to see you die. "You can use a spear as a walking stick but that does not change its nat–" Chrysis' words are cut off with a spray of blood.