Out of Exile - Chapter 1
It was another sleepless night. His body was just too sore. His mind was wandering too much. His heart was in too much despair.
Antipatros questioned whether it was really worth it. After all, he had not even grown up in that culture. But, he felt his heart strained-- yes, strained-- at the thought of such an injustice being allowed to continue. His heart burned with a fire that he could not extinguish, so he knew that he must push on, even if it meant his own demise.
–
The fire entranced the young boy. This eyes fixated on the flames as they licked the thick logs that his father had laid on top. For a brief moment. it appeared that the fire would go out and Antipatros’s face softened and he opened his mouth. Before the words could escape, the flames roared back enveloping the newly placed log, and a sigh escaped as he settled back into the dirt.
“Dada? Why did the gods create us?” asked Antipatros. He had heard the answer many times, but, just as any other eight year old, he loved to hear the answers that his father would give. It was these deep conversations that he looked forward to the most on their pilgrimages.
“Well, the short answer is so that we can participate in creation. They had created the Ovorganti to maintain creation, but humans to carry on the process of creation,” answered Dyomacius with the conviction of a father trying to pass on what little understanding that he himself has. “See this fire? That is an example of us participating in the creative process. We are creating light, heat, and will even be transforming our game into our supper through it. However, unlike the gods, we are only able to create using things that were already created.”
“Why do we have to use things that were already created?”
“Because, unlike the gods, we are selfish. The more power we obtain, the more likely we are to only care about ourselves.”
“That’s why you and Mama had to leave home to come out here? Is that why we live with the Syverenians?”
“Yes. Our rulers had become so powerful that they had forgotten that they are not better than those who serve them. They had forgotten the teachings of our great philosophers, or had chosen to ignore them. This is our home now. We are among people who have taken us in, and just because we look different, know that these people share our core values. That is why they embraced us and made us their own. Perhaps one day, the Empire will correct its path. However, too much blood has already been shed, and too few still remain strong in their convictions. That is why we had to take flight
“Perhaps some day the gods will work upon the hearts of those back in the Empire. Or, perhaps, the gods will persuade them by force. Nothing happens without the gods. I did not understand that until we came to live here, and I believe that is why they had allowed us to fail. Even the most virtuous efforts fall short if it is done only to please men.” Dyomacius’s face appeared to be full of sorrow as he said these words.
The log popped sending sparks into the dark stillness that surrounded them. A leg of goat roasted over the fire. Its skin bubbled and charred above the hot flames. Dyomacius sat on the log behind his son and ruffled his hair. They sat in silence the rest of the night.
--
Antipatros was standing in the makeshift command tent. His only company was the sprawled maps of the region and his bodyguards. The brow furled as he studied the maze of hills, streams, and forests. The maps were horribly out of date, as they dated back before the exile, but they were still useful for the general lay of the land. He studied and studied trying to discern any possible locations that would have crops. Harvest was approaching fast, and he needed more than what he could glean. His men needed more.
His hand slammed the table knocking the compass and protractors onto the dirt floor. Scouts were the only option, and he knew it. Sending anyone out on their own would risk that man’s life, and sending too many would risk being noticed. His strategy relied on sudden onslaught, while leaving a path of destruction in their wake to send a message to anyone who would stand against them.
“Send for Kyrianos,” he said nearly under his breath, but his attentive guards had heard, motioned to one another, and one left swiftly out of the tent.
Moments later a stout Doiketian male entered the tent. It was obvious that he, too, could not sleep. His distress after the last onslaught was palpable. No matter how loyal to a cause, the loss of friends and family who would not concede strains both mind and soul. He had heard about the first civil war on the lap of his grandfather, but, even so, he had not prepared himself for the trauma.
“Sir, what is it that you would have of me?” asked Kyrianos, holding true to the stoicism with which he had been raised.
“I am in need of someone who understands this region. We need to feed our troops. However, we still need to win the hearts and minds of the serfs and commoners whose lives depend on the harvest yields. Come, join me. We need to mark our journey on these maps,” said Antipatros in a firm, yet inviting voice.
“See this area here?” Antipatros watched eagerly as Kyrianos explained, “This is the migration path of the red deer. We are entering into their rutting season, so the males will be easily found at any hour. If we can feed our men primarily venison, we will be able to leave ample crops for those who we wish to win over.
“However, we will have to be cautious. This is the same season that the nobles go on their annual sporting hunts. Their target is not the deer, but the wild cats that roam this region. All predators know of rutting season, so our hunting paths will cross with the cats. That will be unavoidable, but we will need to cover our tracks so as to not alert the nobles of abnormal activities.” Kyrianos’s words were well received. This is indeed why Antipatros had taken this stranger into his inner circle so quickly.
Kyrianos was the son of a nobleman in the hamlet of Tripoxia on the borders between Patronia and Terrapanos. Like many teenagers, he is overcome easily by lofty ideals, and the ideals publicly espoused by the returning exiles appeared to be exceptionally lofty.
–
Laleos paced within his inner quarters of his estate. The murals of his ancestors surrounded him, only broken by the shelves of ancient scrolls and other trinkets that he had collected through his travels. Sweat beaded upon his brow as he wrung his hands.
“For what purpose would Syverenians travels to far into the heart of our region? Our wealth sits in our harbors, and they have never been known to suffer from any famine so as to need to raid our agricultural hubs. They don’t even eat grain, nor do they drink wine. What is their purpose? What could it be?” Laleos was in utter confusion and so lost in thought that he had not noticed someone had entered the room.
“Papa, who are the Syverenians?” asked the young boy. He could not have been much older than six.
Laleos’s countenance softened and a tender smile spread across his face upon hearing his son’s voice. “My little, Paido. I love how curious of a mind that you always have,” he said while placing his hands on the boy’s shoulders. “Syverenians live far away from here. They are primitives that live in the mountains and have nothing to do with us. You need not worry about them until your world lessons begin. Now, go, find your mama and have her give you a pastry. Dinner will be many hours away. We’ll be having your favorite for dinner.”
“Stuffed lamb?!?” The boy exclaimed hardly able to hold back any of his excitement. “Will we be have jelly with it, too?”
“Yes, we’ll make sure that you get a jar all to yourself. Now go, run along and play.”
As his son skipped out of the room, a new level of terror came over Laleos. His concern had only been about himself and his wealth up until that moment. The remembrance of past raids he had lived through on the coast overwhelmed him. He had been young during those raids, and he had never wanted his son to experience any of those terrors.
“If only I knew for what purpose those damned Syverenians were wandering around our lands. Surely it’s not an invasion. If they wanted our lands, they could easily take it by force and slowly expand their borders. No, they never enjoyed living this far away from their precious mountains. No, it must be for some other purpose. It must...” Laleos stopped himself before he drifted endlessly into his thoughts. Now was not a time for rumination.
He looked out his window to the courtyard below. His older children were idly chatting with some other noble children from a neighboring hamlet. The Council had been called and all the surrounding hamlets had sent their representatives. As head of the council, it was Laleos’s duty to wine and dine all traveling members upon their arrival.
Walking down, Laleos grabbed his chalice. He had a peculiar habit of only drinking from the same chalice throughout the entire evening. No matter which wine was served, his chalice remained the same.
He made his subtle entrance among his guests, greeting each council member individually. Thus was his way, personal connection. He treated others as he wished to be treated, and he did not want to be addressed as just one of many.
Hours flew by with conversations, and wine flowed freely among the guests. As it is said, in wine, there is truth.
“Andianos, my friend! How have you found my vintage? Has it pleased your sophisticated palate?” asked Laleos while handing another bottle to Andianos.
“It has been most pleasing indeed. It is always a treat to imbibe the finest wines of the Empire.”
“Surely, you are too generous. At best, our wine is the finest in Terripanos, and not of the entire Empire. Where is your protege, Patarios? I have been looking forward to his first address to the Council.”
“Patarios has been a bit preoccupied of late,” Andianos let slip. The words drew Laleos’s full attention, as he was only expecting that the young man was delayed.
“Does it have to do with the wandering bandits?” Laleos casually inserted. It was a poorly bated hook, but his intoxicated target did not notice.
“Not bandits. No… Not bandits.”
“Then who?”
“Some have started talking about freeing the serfs again. It’s been grabbing his attention.”
“Surely that is not coming up again. After so much blood was spilled the first time, no educated person would ever entertain that notion again.”
“Well, our youth are not well educated. Not in the least,” said Andianos while taking a long draw from his glass. “In fact, I am beginning to believe that not a single educated one exists among them.”
“Surely you jest. Do you mean to say that Patarios is entertaining these notions himself?” As these words flowed from Laleos, Andianos blushed and became visibly uncomfortable.
“Uh.. uh… sir, I wish to change the subject. I do not wish to speak of this any further. I cannot afford to slander another council member. Not again.”
“Come, come. You are safe here. Everyone else is preoccupied. Besides, it is your duty to let me know of such things. I am the one who would be able to set up a secret investigation, after all. No one will ever know unless we find hard evidence of his treason.”
“Treason?” On this word, sweat poured from Andianos’s brow. His gripped his glass with both hands, for his hands had become too unsteady. “Treason? Who said anything about treason? Entertaining such notions is not treason.”
“No, but allying oneself with the Syverenians is.” At this statement Andianos turned himself fully to Laleos. Panic had stricken his face.
“What about the Syverenians? They are just passing through. Surely they are not involved in some conspiracy? Surely no self respecting Doiketian would associate with such folk.” The cracking of his voice betrayed that he knew more than he was letting on. That he had some hidden guilt for letting the association of his pupil go on so long. That he felt himself guilty of some unforgivable crime.
“I am sure that you have nothing to worry about,” said Laleos with a long pause. “But, if you did withhold information from the council, and especially from the head of the council… That…. That would be a crime. And a quite unforgivable one at that.”
“He’s a good kid. A good kid. He’s just misguided. I can turn him around. I can help drive out the Syverenians so that they stop twisting his mind. So that the stop bending his will to their own. Give me a chance. Please. I beg you. Please. Do not inform the others of this scandal. I beg you. Give me some time.” Andianos was on the verge of tears as he blubbered.
“You did the right thing in telling me. You will be spared… As for Patarios, time will tell. If he repents, and I do mean repent, then he will be spared,” said Laleos with the pretense of consoling his associate.
“Oh,” added Laleos prior to departing. “If he does keep Syverenians as friends, the choice will be his.”
“What choice?” asked Andianos in a startled voice.
“Whether he joins them in their home land,” Laleos paused, sipped from his chalice, and smiled as he turned. “… or in the grave.”
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