Authors: Morgan Llywelyn
Etruscans (27 page)
T
he moon pool in the long, oval hall began to bubble. There were no mortal eyes present to see the figure that partially emerged. The multibreasted Pythia rose briefly through the white water, looked around, found herself unattended, and submerged again. But she did not leave the pool, need not leave it in order to travel from her Earthworld temple to her Netherworld palace. Water was a conduit.
he moon pool in the long, oval hall began to bubble. There were no mortal eyes present to see the figure that partially emerged. The multibreasted Pythia rose briefly through the white water, looked around, found herself unattended, and submerged again. But she did not leave the pool, need not leave it in order to travel from her Earthworld temple to her Netherworld palace. Water was a conduit.
Among the many palaces belonging to gods in the Netherworld, Pythia's was neither the largest nor the most spectacular. Each palace was a reflection of the nature of its builder. Some employed Cyclopean architecture on a scale beyond Earthworld comprehension, with massive walls and immense towers that bespoke granitic power. Others were as tiny and exquisite as jewels, refracting rainbow prisms from crystalline pinnacles where silken banners fluttered gaily.
Pythia's stronghold in a shadowy valley between two brooding mountains possessed a sinister quality all its
own. Even among the gods, who could scarcely afford to condemn any of their own for misbehavior, Pythia's name was enough to provoke a shudder of distaste. At the dawn of Humankind she had interfered with Man and Woman in the Birth Garden, tempting them to an intellectual independence that altered the entire relationship between
Ais
and human. For this she was ostracized.
own. Even among the gods, who could scarcely afford to condemn any of their own for misbehavior, Pythia's name was enough to provoke a shudder of distaste. At the dawn of Humankind she had interfered with Man and Woman in the Birth Garden, tempting them to an intellectual independence that altered the entire relationship between
Ais
and human. For this she was ostracized.
In response she had made defiance her coda. Her palace reflected her truculent attitude. A vast circular structure surfaced with overlapping scales of metallic black, the mansion rose level upon level, coil upon coil, to dominate the valley. Any who wished to traverse the region between the two peaks found their way blocked. Should they be so foolhardy as to venture into Pythia's realm, they could expect to find agony.
As a result the coiled black palace had very few visitors. Sumptuously furnished in onyx and obsidian, the building echoed hollowly whenever the goddess was not in residence. At its heart was another pool whose waters were as thick as curdled cream and as black as tar.
Here Pythia resurfaced.
A flat forehead, a long narrow jaw, a slash of a mouth. In the Netherworld, however, Pythia was not blind. Her keen eyes were like buttons of polished jet. Turning her head slowly on its long, slender neck, she surveyed the hall surrounding the pool. Her tongue briefly flickered through half-parted lips. “Attend me!” she cried.
Servants hurried forward. Like her Earthworld acolytes, these had serpentine forms. In their case, however, the shape was natural rather than an imposition of the goddess. Pythia was fond of capturing humans and warping them to suit her fancy, but those who served her in the Netherworld were snakes at heart and had never been anything else.
“You command, we obey, Great Goddess,” they replied with superficial deference as they approached the tarry pool. They did not share the fear of the Earthworld
acolytes that prevented them from looking at their deity. They looked at her openly, almost insolently, as if measuring her usefulness and wondering if they might find a god more worthy.
acolytes that prevented them from looking at their deity. They looked at her openly, almost insolently, as if measuring her usefulness and wondering if they might find a god more worthy.
“Have you any news of the traitor Bur-Sin?” the goddess demanded.
They writhed in indecision, urging one another to go forward. Finally one was shoved to the front. “Even now,” the reluctant messenger related, “he is approaching your palace, Great Pythia.”
“What! He is coming here? Deliberately?”
“So it seems. With him he brings two females from the Earthworld. Two living females. He maintains their fleshly bodies by using the power he stole from you, an act of appalling audacity. Possibly he thinks to use them to do you harm.”
“Harm me? What wretched demon could possibly harm me?” With a great upward surge, Pythia began to emerge from the pool. Beads of moisture clung to her polished skin. She rarely left the water completely because her form was repellent even to herself. Once she had been as beautiful as the loveliest human woman. But in punishment for her misdeed the other gods had put a mark upon her forehead and cursed her to crawl forever in the dust.
She found it easier to hide her shame within the shelter of opaque water. For some acts, however, she must commit to dry land.
Up she came, and up. The slender column of her neck gave way to sloping shoulders, then a grotesque cluster of swollen breasts with their ruby nipplesâand one withered breast, empty and useless. The elongated torso that followed was muscular and sinewy, without waist or hips. As more of Pythia emerged from the water her resemblance to anything human disappeared. Her undulating body was broad and thin, like that of a monstrous eel, and of astonishing length.
With a final convulsive heave she cleared the water
and lay stretched upon the floor of the hall, half-filling the room, her many bosoms heaving. Gathering herself, she swiftly coiled into a huge and deadly spiral.
and lay stretched upon the floor of the hall, half-filling the room, her many bosoms heaving. Gathering herself, she swiftly coiled into a huge and deadly spiral.
Her servants recognized their danger then and tried to slither backward. Before they could escape she reared up until the forepart of her body towered high above them. A broad hood of mottled black flesh unfolded from either side of her neck just below the jaws. Then she dipped her head and played her flickering tongue over the one who had spoken.
Pythia's jaws opened; fangs shot out, dripping a paralytic poison onto the hapless servant. Her victim could only watch with eyes bulging in horror as her jaws unhinged enough to clamp around his entire head ⦠and rip it from his body.
The others fled. Alone in the central hall of her palace, the giant figure of Pythia swayed back and forth. Softly she hissed to herself, “Why? Why has he burdened himself with women?”
T
he fire fiends continued to hover close, but Horatius would not be deterred. The burning globes did not attack him again however. “They seem more inclined to hinder you than to harm you,” Pepan remarked.
he fire fiends continued to hover close, but Horatius would not be deterred. The burning globes did not attack him again however. “They seem more inclined to hinder you than to harm you,” Pepan remarked.
“Perhaps I can't be harmed in the Netherworld.”
“Make no mistake; you can. Only in the Kingdom of the Dead is there total safety, and you're not dead.”
“What about you?”
Pepan replied, “As long as I remain outside the kingdom I too am vulnerable.”
“Yet you choose to remain with me?”
“I do.”
Horatius paused for a moment and turned to look the other man squarely in the eyes. “I owe you a debt,” he said.
“You do not. I am atoning for failing your mother and grandmother a long time ago. I made them a promise I
could not keep. Now, through you, I have a second chance. If anything, it is I who am in your debt.”
could not keep. Now, through you, I have a second chance. If anything, it is I who am in your debt.”
They struggled on. In time they found themselves skirting a broad plain that stretched almost to the horizon. The ground was littered with immense slabs of limestone like a giant's paving stones. Leafless, spiny plants thrived in the gaps between them.
When Horatius tried to go over for a better look, the fire fiends closed around him, attempting to prevent him. Stubbornly he forced his way forward. When he reached the first of the stones the burning globes drew back. “It looks as if they can't follow us here. We can escape them now, Pepan! Come on!” He ran onto the limestone plain and began leaping from one stone square to another. Pepan hurried after him.
The fire fiends hung in the air at the edge of the rocky expanse like a swarm of frustrated hornets. The tiny plants growing between the stones crisped and flamed, only to immediately reappear, then burn again.
The rough-surfaced stones were split and fissured, frequently unstable, shifting underfoot. Running proved impossible and Horatius and Pepan were forced to slow to a walk. The young man felt an uneasy prickling at the back of his neck. Beneath the lurid red sky that was not a sky, the plain had an eerie, haunted quality. “What is this place, Pepan, do you know?”
“I cannot say I do, much of the Netherworld is unexplored, but ⦠look over there, Horatius.”
Pepan was pointing toward a massive framework emerging from between two slabs of stone. Like the ruin of an ancient building, a set of curved vertical timbers clawed at the sky. Horatius went to take a look. Moments later he called over his shoulder, “These are bones, Pepan!”
The Lord of the Rasne hastened to join him. Together the two gazed down at the ribcage of a giant skeleton, crushed and broken, slowly being freed by natural
forces as the stones shifted and the soil wore away. Once a creature of monstrous size had been buried there. Now all that remained was its decaying frame.
forces as the stones shifted and the soil wore away. Once a creature of monstrous size had been buried there. Now all that remained was its decaying frame.
“What was it, Pepan?”
The older man studied the bizarre shape, running his hand over the hard surface. “No creature you or I have ever seen. Nor are these actually bones, not as we know them. They are made from some other substance entirely. Not stone, but not bone either.”
“Can you say what the creature looked like when it was alive?”
“I cannot even say if it ever was alive. This is the Netherworld, remember. Earthworld life is alien here. I ⦠where are you going?”
“There's another one over there!” Careless of his footing, Horatius trotted off at a tangent across the stony expanse.
Pepan caught up with him as he bent over another recumbent form. This one was much smaller and of a different shape. It included a skull of vaguely human proportions but with curving tusks and a bony crest across the top. From the shoulder blades spread a fan of bones that might once have supported wings. The entire skeleton reminded Pepan of something only glimpsed in dreams.
They found another, a human skeleton, with the skull of a bull and curving horns. Beside it lay a creature that had the body of a horse, but the foreparts of a man. A few paces farther on was a huge skull that possessed three sets of eye sockets, three gaping mouths.
Pepan crouched to rub his hand over the three-faced skull. “May the
Ais
forgive us,” he whispered. “I believe we have stumbled into a graveyard of the gods.”
Ais
forgive us,” he whispered. “I believe we have stumbled into a graveyard of the gods.”
“But the gods are immortal, surely.” Horatius was staring down at the perfectly preserved skeleton of a manâbut a man four times taller than a normal human. He tried to imagine a limit to immortality and failed.
The two continued on their quest. Horatius was troubled
by what they had seen. From time to time they found other relics, each hinting at some mystery, some legend. He paused by each one, struggling anew to understand the mystery.
by what they had seen. From time to time they found other relics, each hinting at some mystery, some legend. He paused by each one, struggling anew to understand the mystery.
Gods die.
And if gods can die, what hope for man?
He was turning to put the question to Pepan when he heard a low groan. The sound was soft and musical, so sweet that at first Horatius thought he was hearing a song or a melody played by the wind moaning through the bones of dead gods.
When it came again, he followed the sound to its source.
At the foot of a towering vertical stone that pointed to the crimson sky was a pit littered with bones. A huddled figure lay in the bottom of the pit. “Pepan! Look here!”
The Lord of the Rasne hurried over to put a cautionary hand on his arm. “It might be a trap.”
“Or it could be someone in pain,” argued Horatius. As if to confirm his words, another moan sounded from the pit. He shook off Pepan's hand and jumped down. His companion could only follow, shaking his head.
When Horatius and Pepan tossed aside the piled debris of ancient bones and knelt beside him, the being opened his eyes. Orange eyes. Star-shaped eyes set in a pale but perfect oval face, surrounded by a mane of curling, golden hair like the petals of a flower. He was very beautiful but he was not human.
When he saw them he groaned again and closed his eyes.
“Who are you?” Horatius asked gently. “Can we help you?”
The voice that answered was very weak. “You cannot help me. I am dying.”
“Are you wounded?”
“No, merely starved.”
“We have no food.”
“I need no food.”
“Who are you?”
“Why do you care? But if you doâI am what you call a god. A once-god.”
Pepan tensed. “Be careful, Horatius.”
“You need not fear me.” The orange-eyed being attempted to sit up. “I am the one who should be afraid of you. My enemies have sent you to mock me in my weakness. I take satisfaction from knowing that their time will come. One day they too will lie here and wait for oblivion.”
Horatius crouched beside the god. With tender care he gathered the being into his arms and stroked the pallid brow, brushing strands of golden hair away from the extraordinary eyes. “We have no intention of mocking you; we are not cruel. But if you are a god, why are you not immortal?”
“I am immortal; I have always existed and always will. But not with this face and form. Their substance was created by the imaginations of humans who long ago conferred godhood upon my spirit. They encased me in this image. Now humans no longer worship at my shrines. My temples have fallen; no power of faith sustains me. My beauty is dying and I grieve for its loss.”
“Of course!” exclaimed Pepan. “Horatius, long before there were Etruscans other people walked the earth, people who worshipped very different gods from ours. When those folk died out, their vision of the gods must have died with them. Here we see an example of someone's god dying because the belief has died. Don't you see? The
Ais
need us as much as we need them!”
Ais
need us as much as we need them!”
Horatius was deeply moved by the beautiful, fading creature. “Is there no way I can help you?”
The orange eyes gazed up into his. “Believe in the reality of me. As long as I am real to you, the form you see will survive. In return I will give you my help in your hour of greatest need.”
“You have my pledge,” promised Horatius. “May I know your name?”
“Some have called me ⦠Eosphorus.”
“Eosphorus,” Horatius repeated, his mouth full of the word. “Eosphorus.” Even as he said the name, the creature in his arms began to change. A glow appeared beneath the clear skin, then grew in power until Eosphorus was radiant. His beauty became so great Horatius had to turn his face away. “I cannot look at you; you dazzle me.”
“I was once known as the Shining One,” the god in his arms said.
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