Kryptic ↟ Deimos

twenty-one: reunions and hushed whispers

He lifts his hand to her cheek, laughing. "You–" Tundareos skims over her freckled face, still in disbelief "–you're alive." She nods. The gods had taught her to survive, though it had come at a cost. Her brother engulfs her in his arms, holding her tight and exultant to know his own hardships had not been in vain. Lesya loosely clutches the back of his poor-fitting linothorax armor.

Stepping back, Tundareos takes in the destruction and blood, letting out a deep sigh that dampens his spirits —he had fought alongside many of the fallen for years. "Xenia won't be happy to hear she's lost more men." The seas had become more treacherous since the war began between Sparta and Athens, even for pirates.

Kassandra overhears the mention of the pirate commander and approaches. "You know Xenia?" The misthios asks, returning the broken spear of Leonidas to the sheath on her quiver. "Kassandra seeks an audience with her," Lesya adds, "she's in the market for information."

Tundareos looks over the Eagle Bearer then back to his sister. "I can vouch for you," he decides, "this can just be a misunderstanding." After all, neither party had known the other before the collision. Lesya's lips kink into a smile and Kass lets out a slow breath of relief.

The war galley is called the Ippalkimon and is one of the finest ships under Xenia's command. Now there are not enough men to bring the trireme back to port. Lesya and Tundareos secure several long ropes together, tying them to the stern of the Adrestia and bow of the Ippalkimon. They will see Tundareos and what remains of his crew back to Keos safely, though towing the pirate trireme will slow their journey by several days.

ONE OF THE Cultists throws down an iron poker—cold and bent. His face set in a grim line behind the painted ivory mask. Deimos had delivered word of the brute's failure in Korinth. His sister and Lesya had done their damage and fled before he arrived. "The Monger failed," he tells the gathering, a wave of grumbling displeasure spreads through them. None realize Deimos listens in the labyrinth of tunnels above the great bronze serpent.

All others in the dark chamber stare at the iron rod, most are in a state of incredulity. "He was the strongest of us," one dares speak. "The strongest of arm, perhaps," another muses, "but not of mind." The Monger was not a skilled tactician or orator, relying on brute strength and fear to keep Korinthia under his yoke for so long. With his death, the Cult had lost sway over the land and people that would not be easily reclaimed.

"Do you forget we have another," a third figure says with a soft, feminine voice, "fiercer than the Monger, with sharp wits?" She speaks of Deimos —Chrysis' beloved champion and their greatest weapon. It had been far too long since they put him to use.

The first to speak answers in a low, grating voice. "Deimos is not truly one of us though, is he?" The grandson of Leonidas would never be a true member of their ranks for the blood flowing through his veins. There is a reason he could use the artifact and harness the full power of the Damoklean sword —they raised him to believe himself a demigod, a lie planted from a seed of truth. "He is unpredictable," the Cultist spits, "like a rabid dog as Kleon said before."

"Exactly," says the soft-spoken Cultist, "this is our opportunity to use him to the greatest effect. Or replace him with another." There was always the sister —if she were to be captured, they could persuade her to see the light of Kosmos and embrace order. "Rumors say she will head to Athens to seek the wisdom of Perikles and Aspasia. Though there's also whispers she sails for Keos." Nyx casts a wide shadow across Hellas, few things slip past the Sage of Komos' eyes.

"Athens?" says another, uncertain as the rest fall silent —the last time Deimos was in Athens they lost Leandros. It had taken weeks to regain what they had lost with his demise.

Nyx nods. "Send him to Athens," she commends. There were rumors of sickness spreading in the city too. It was likely they would not find another opportunity like this. "Perikles has been a thorn in our foot for too long. Kassandra cannot defeat him." The others rumbled their agreements in unison. "Nobody can." But Nyx has forgotten about Deimos' only weakness, one that is just as ferocious as him in battle.

A twisted Cultist with a hunchback takes a step forward. "What about her?" the airy voice queries. He had not forgotten about Enyo. "She is the only one who can best him and she sails with the sister."

Grumbles pass through the gathering. Kleon steps forward —his twisted smile hidden behind the grinning, weeping mask. "He will not fight her, though." He knows Deimos and Enyo will do whatever it takes to protect one another, even now. "The orders will be delivered. Our champion will sail for Athens." None dare object.

Four of the Cultists leave the chamber and remaining masked figures circle the golden artifact and speak quietly amongst one another. The lone lamp in the center casting their shadows on the chamber walls —titanic, crooked, inhuman. "Deimos failed again in Korinth," one speaks —so low that Deimos can hardly hear them from his position above. "He's served his purpose. He is strong, yes, but he thrashes like a bull now that she is gone." There is a pause as all but one of the figures nods. "You think he will stay in Athens?" He will seek her out again, as he did in Korinth but that is not spoken aloud.

"He is still valuable to us," another snaps. "He will return to our heel when we call him and gods willing, he will bring Enyo and his sister to us." With Enyo back at Deimos' side and the sister under their control too, no one would stand in their way. Footsteps echo through the cave. The Cultists look up. Their masks are already locked in unsettling grins, but behind them, each of the Cultists mimics the expression of their masks as the old messenger comes in and slides to one knee —panting.