Chronicles of Akhani - 12 - Spreading
Iosodoros walked glumly through his vineyard. His vineyard had always struggled due to the heat, the droughts, the over irrigation, locusts, and various other indigenous enemies of the vine. However horrible those threats seemed, he always had a mitigation plan. This time, though, he did not.
A blight was falling upon his land, the likes of which he had never seen before. Many flowers had wilted before bearing fruit. Most of the fruit that was born rotted before hitting maturation. This latter event puzzled Iosodoros the most. He had never heard of, let alone seen, fruit that decayed before ever ripening.
There were no signs of insects. There was no sign of mold. There was no signs of frost, as unlikely has that would have been. The vines simply were unable to bear fruit. As he would find out, this would be the least of his worries.
“Ioso! Quick! Come Quick!” His wife shouted from the barn. “Ioso! The wine, Ioso! The wine! It is ruined!”
Panic and confusion commingled within Iosodoros’s mind. His heart raced. He feared the worst, but he needed to be sure.
“What’s the matter, my dear? What happened? What happened to the wine?” Iosodoros hurriedly asked his wife as he jogged. Sweat beaded upon his brow, and his breath was labored from the short run.
“Ioso… Ioso...” were the only words that came out of Kodomi’s mouth as she handed him the tasting glass. Tears ran down her cheeks.
Iosodoros took the glass, swirled it, analyzed the legs, and gasped. “Viscous!” he exclaimed nearly tripping over his feet though he had been standing still. “Which vintage? Which one?”
Kodomi’s head hung low, and she fell to her knees. As Iosodoros bent to help her up, she motioned to the far table along the wall of the barn. Iosodoros’s eyes grew wide at the sight.
The table was filled with tasting glasses. All of them with the obviously viscous wine sticking to their sides. Bottles were strewn all over the place, half full and carelessly discarded. Iosodoros bent to a knee in front of his beloved wife and put his arm around her.
“Which vintage? Which vintage was ruined?” He asked coolly while embracing his wife. His heart was split between his wife and his life.
Kodomi continued to weep and pressed herself into her loving husband’s chest. They had survived so much together. They had survived the loss of their children to the wolves. They had survived the droughts, during which all their crops had failed. They had survived the fires that had consumed their house. Now, childless, without stores of food, and living in the barn, they had finally lost their final hope.
“Which vintage? Kodomi, my love, which vintage were you tasting?”
Kodomi’s bloodshot eyes met Iosodoros’s as she said, “All of them.”
–
Back in the camp, Akhani had discharged the pack. He and Yassir agreed that time would be better served as separate parties, but reconvening every few evenings. Yassir assured Akhani that he would come at first smell of a Doiketian. Akhani, likewise, assured Yassir that he will acquire extra meat (whether Doiketian or antelope) for each convening.
After the wolves had departed, Akhani approached Zhorovna. An air of self-satisfaction exuded from his presence. His walk was as a victory march of a man who had just knocked out his rival without receiving blows. Zhorovna, however, remained unimpressed.
“Are you satisfied?” Zhorovna sniped.
“With killing some Doiketians? Yes,” came Akhani’s reply as cool as ice.
Zhorovna rolled her eyes and began gathering firewood. Under each breath, she recited the prayers that she had grown using within the monastery. Breathing in, the words “Oh fathers, creators of all,” entered her soul through her lungs. After holding her breath, she expelled the evil with the words, “cleanse us of our sins.” The words did not go unnoticed.
“Still praying to your imagination?” Akhani jabbed carelessly.
Zhorovna did not reply, but kept saying her prayers. She started arranging the wood upon the altar, and Akhani felt a sudden burst of anger take hold of him.
“What are you doing? What is this nonsense? Are you going to waste more of our food?” Akhani fumed gesticulating towards the altar. “Do not waste any more of our supplies on your imaginary friends. I am your master, and you will obey. Do you understand? Answer me. Do you understand?”
Zhorovna’s prayers continued uninterrupted. She walked over to their supplies and gathered a large portion of preserved antelope. It was not the ideal gift for the gods, but it would have to do. As she placed it atop the wood, Akhani sprang into action.
Akhani tackled Zhorovna. For, though he was small, he was still his superior in strength. Zhorovna struggled, but could not free herself from his grasp.
“Now, I will not warn you again. Do not, ever, waste my food. Do not, ever, waste my wood. Do not, ever, say your silly prayers in front of me,” Akhani growled.
“Oh, fathers, forgive...” Zhorovna started, but the sacrifice burst into flames untouched.
Akhani screamed in anguish as the flames consumed the offering. Zhorovna freed herself during his distraction, and grabbed a spear for protection. She feared that the spirits within Akhani would retaliate. She prayed that the gods’ actions were not just to instigate, but to protect. She braced herself, not knowing what to expect.
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