“The ‘terror of history,’ for me, is the feeling experienced by a man who is no longer religious, who therefore has no hope of finding any ultimate meaning in the drama of history, and who must undergo the crimes of history without grasping the meaning of them.”
-Mircea Eliade, Ordeal by Labyrinth: Conversations with Claude-Henri Rocquet
A storyteller does not concern themselves with the truth. Stories are truer than the truth. These are not literal constructs as much as imaginative creations.
Mr. Ibis
[This work is a fictional entry into a non-fictional reality, the world of myth. It appears in three parts.]
It was the winter of 1995, and he sat in the school library, as he did so often, this day ruminating upon a word. It wasn’t uncommon for him to chase down odd paths like this, mazes of meaning locked in the books around him, some as old as the 1960s or beyond. They bore the marks of age, names from his parents’ generation etched in pencil in check-out slips no longer used. It was computers now, everything scanned. The card catalogue sat in a corner as a relic. There were far fewer kids in here than he remembered from the year before.
The word was cacophony. It had a sound that intrigued him. He’d gotten it right on the vocabulary quiz; such things came easy to him- bad sound, noise. It struck him so deeply because without knowing he’d been searching for just such a word in his attempt to make sense of his world. The bus in the morning was a cacophony; it was why he walked to school. Class was a cacophony; thus he often skipped. Lunch was a cacophony; hence he was here, in the library where the cacophony didn’t follow. You could here it in the halls though. Music playing on forbidden portable stereos, staccato braggadocio about money and sex, each stream of harsh sound attempting to blast over those of others, even as the listeners raised their voices to talk and argue over it. One could hardly tell the joy from the fighting. Only the drugs kept things civil, and the moist, cut-grass reek of marijuana was always the olfactory adjunct to cacophony. It made it bearable. But what made it necessary?
The big dictionary on the lectern in the back was the oldest book by far in the library. It sat there out of the way to make space for the computer upon which one looked up the holdings. The older librarian complained to the students about it but hardly anyone paid her any mind. She’d always been kind to him though, ordering books from other schools he’d asked for, weird stuff about aliens and the Loch Ness Monster, so he’d listened, and wondered about it. He had heard she was retiring, that maybe she was ill, but thought it would be rude to ask. He liked the dictionary, how it smelled, the soft edges of the pages, worn smooth from decades of perusal. He looked through until he found it.
Cacophany, n. From the Greek . . .
It had been a long journey, and he’d killed a great many men, but the prince had at last arrived in his home, come hence to see his father for the first time. He’d hoped his exploits would make Aigeus proud, but for his part, he nursed no small amount of anger at the conditions on the road. Bandits infested the land, madmen and torturers whose lust for gain was matched by a wanton cruelty that only those who fear punishment from neither god nor man can manifest. But they found too late that their reckoning was indeed upon them, at the hands of a youth they had all taken for prey. At Epidaurus he’d beaten Periphetes to death with his own club. Pituokomptes tied men to trees and tore them apart; he not only slew the bandit in like manner, but seduced his daughter for good measure. Phaia, the hag, had bred a great swine that terrorized the land around Krommuon. The prince fed her to her pet before slaying the monster. Skiron thought he could make the young man wash his feet, but got a fuller bath than he’d hoped for when he was tossed into the sea, to be torn apart by the things that dwell in deep places. Eleusis he purged of the king of wrestlers, Kerkuon, who met his end red faced, choking and crushed in the prince’s arms. And Prokrustes, the most perverse of all, with his sick mockery of hospitality, killing men in his special beds- the fiend slept there still, and always would.
His late mother had told him that his father was a great king, but what king would suffer such outrages to be visited upon his people? Before her passing in Troezen she had led him to the great boulder Aigeus had left in his younger days, having declared that his son would be worthy to meet him when he could lift it and retrieve the items beneath. And so he had. The prince bore a sword in his right hand and old-fashioned sandals on his feet. It was by these signs his father would know him, his son Theseus, come home at last, passing through the city gates.
He did not receive the welcome he hoped for; he saw no sign of hospitality in Athens. Walking the dusty streets, all ignored him as they pursued their business. The merchants’ stalls were busy, prices high due to the rampant banditry, but the city seemed flush with coins and no one seemed to mind. Even the prostitutes had a gaudy arrogance about them, strutting in midday, male and female and some in-between, offering themselves in turn to whoever came. Some were far too young, or too old, but decency seemed no barrier. A turbulent mass of men pushed against each other in all directions, cursing, shoving, and shouting. Making his way to the Acropolis, to the palace of the king, the wretched character of the place did not abate, but quite increased in scope. The nobles’ homes were like those of their inferiors, simply greater in scale, with golden curtains swaying in the breeze, lifting to reveal murals of debauchery in their very dining rooms, where the sounds of drinking parties either begun the night before or meant to last into the next day, or both, could be heard. The noise from it all was awful, a veritable cacophony. He spotted the palace before him at the highest place, and sped there as quickly as he could.
“I’m sorry, but I have to take that into the back for inventory.”
She’d startled him, being old and tiny; she’d approached with no sound as he gazed intently at the tiny print. “They’re getting rid of it?”
“What makes you say that?” Her voice was soothing, as though she was a nurse reassuring him of a benign diagnosis.
“They already moved it and they know it’s here; why take it in the back to count it?”
“There’s going to be a television going here, to display information about the school.” She doffed her glasses as she spoke, as if wanting a blurrier perception of that eventuality. Her clothes were at least two generations past fashion, all wool and linen, down to her dress shoes. The younger librarians wore sneakers. She moved to grab the tome, then hesitated. “Young man, would you lift this for me? It’s a bit much at my age.”
He picked up the dictionary as she’d asked, and it was indeed heavy. Heavier than he’d imagined it would be.
She motioned for him to follow and he did. Oddly, as he walked, the book seemed to get heavier. He wasn’t in the best shape and he chalked it up to skipping gym class. By the time he got into the librarians’ office, he had to set it down.
“That won’t do” she said, calmly but forcefully, as though he’d done something wrong. Huffing, he looked at her, only to see her motion to a door in the back of the office. He hoisted it onto his shoulder as she walked ahead of him, unlocking the door to what appeared to be a storage room. “This is where most of the books are kept when they’re out of circulation,” she remarked casually.
“Do I put it here?”
“No, not here.” She waved him on to yet another door, one in the back of this room. He hadn’t noticed it when they came in, but he was breathing hard and not really focusing on his surroundings. “There was another school here before this one; I worked there in my younger days. Some of the books I brought here with me. Some of them are quite old- unique, really. They’re kept in here.”
She unlocked that door, but before he could open it, he dropped the dictionary.
“That won’t do at all!” She actually sounded a bit angry. “You must pick it up.”
“It’s heavy.” He felt guilty saying it, though it was true. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to help, but the damn thing weighed a ton.
“Important things are generally heavy. You don’t drop them- you find strength to bear the burden.” She hadn’t even looked back, but rather, stood facing the door, with her withered hand on the knob.
He wanted to leave, really, to go back to the table he liked- the last wooden one- and read something interesting before 5th period began. But it felt too awkward to tell this old woman he was too weak to help, so he bent down and with all the power he could muster, deadlifted it to his waist. He was so embarrassed at his weakness that it didn’t occur to him how odd it was that the dictionary seemed to be getting heavier. He staggered under the load, walking towards her as she turned the knob and opened the door. They entered together.
The whole court was present, having been gathered at the word of the prince’s homecoming. The scribes and nobles and accountants seemed more curious than happy though, as if the arrival of Theseus amounted to a need to readjust plans. They murmured at his approach, off to the side of the great marble hall. He ignored them as he made his way toward King Aigeus
His father sat on his throne opposite the entryway, his queen beside him. Aigeus had been a great hero in his youth, but the stories Theseus had heard he would not have believed had he laid eyes on the man himself before he’d been told them. The king was both withered and corpulent, a melting candle of a man, whose pale skin and sunken eyes told of days spent indoors and nights spent in debauchery. Kohl lined his eyes and rogue his cheeks, his purple robes not fit for any act save lounging.
His new queen Theseus knew by reputation. She was Medea, the witch daughter of Aietes of Colchis-where-the-sun-rises, lately the concubine of Jason of Corinth. It was said she’d murdered her own children and Jason’s intended bride besides, that she’d come to Athens as a fugitive in a chariot drawn by dragons. She clearly knew him on sight. Her red-black eyes glared at him with all the fire of her grandfather Helios, her dusky barbarian face flush with rage at his coming. For though by mortal reckoning she was well past the age for children, she bore the form of youth, and even as she sat on her throne she nursed an infant son at her breast- Aigeus’ heir, until this day.
“Father, at long last I have come, your son Theseus. Many are the perils I have faced in my journey here, but all were well met, and now the people can enjoy safe passage through the countryside. I have seen to my duty, father, that I might do honor to our house.” He ignored his stepmother’s seething and bowed.
“Theseus, I had not expected you, nor so bold a path as you cleared to come here. Did you not know that the men of the wilds are driven hence by their poverty and want, that they struggle in the hills for their bare living?” The king wheezed his words, spitting incredulous disappointment at his heir. “We have long sought some accomodation with them, and had you not cut them down, we may yet have lived in peace.”
“Peace...? What peace does a great king make with bandits?” Theseus’ shock and disgust registered in a tone not fit to address an honored father. “Your son stands before you, victorious against those who made depredations upon your people, and you mock him at though he had despised the laws of gods and men!”
“Things have indeed grown peaceful here, dear child,” Medea interjected, her voice wrapped in a purring tone. The people of this city prosper. Much work remains to ensure that all enjoy the bounty of the land and the benefits of our trading fellowships.”
Theseus ignored her still. “Father, I came to you in search of kleos, of the glory befitting a noble house. You tell me that such things are cast aside that the low might revel and the best debauch? Is this to be my inheritance? For what end did you conceal your gifts beneath a boulder, that I might regret the effort I took to move it?”
“Theseus, such tokens were from another age, another life. Our world has changed, and we with it. This is a time of calm and ease, and may calm and ease prevail forevermore. Your inheritance is not blood and glory, no- it is the bounty of men’s drive and ambition, of cleverness and techne. Look around you, and see all the things the heroes of old have striven for laid out but for you to grasp.” With a wave of his wizened hand he indicated the treasures abundant in the room, tables heaped with silk and golden bowls, rich tapestries, food and wine. The very slaves were hung with gems.
“It is by such things that our house has been corrupted!” Theseus abandoned all restraint. “Foreign gold and foreign whores, and our lineage forgotten. I will have no part of this place, this age, or this degeneracy. I cast off the very dust of this hall and bid you farewell!” And before anyone could react, he turned and stormed from his father’s presence.
The room hardly looked like it belonged in the school building. The shelves were all dark wood, old, and carved with designs. Rolls of paper were piled up in some places, looking like real versions of the fake Declaration of Independence from US history class. Books, all old, some worn and bearing faded spines, but none dusty or poorly kept, took up most of the space. There were small statues and objects that looked like knick-knacks, a well-trodden rug on the floor, and in the middle of the space a plain dark wooden table like the shelves, covered in open books, papers, magnifying glasses, and various kinds of pens. There was an ornate desk off to one side, also piled high with papers and objects, and a teapot sitting on a warmer.
“This is my office. The other librarians don’t come here. The dictionary goes there.” She indicated a position high on the topmost shelf.
He tried to lift it; he really did. But the weight was too much and it fell on his feet. He gasped in pain. “Something stabbed me,” he complained. The old librarian walked over, took up the dictionary and placed it on the shelf all while gazing down at his sneakers. She knelt down.
“It’s just this.” There had been an old metal ink pen on the floor, which the force of the impact had driven up into the sole of his shoe. She grabbed his ankle, lifted his foot high enough to reach it, and wrenched it out. “You’ll be fine,” she said, offering it to him.
He wondered at that; his shoes had a mark across them and one now had a pentip-sized hole in it, as did his foot. But it looked old and valuable, so he didn’t hesitate to pocket it. He gazed around. “How old is this stuff?”
“Like I said, I brought many things here from my former job.”
“From the school that was here before?”
“There have been many schools, actually.”
“And now you’re retiring? That’s what people are saying.” He thought about minding his business on that, but he genuinely didn’t want her to go. He wanted to come back to this room, injuries notwithstanding. It was more than just a kid’s self-importance at being allowed to go places from which his peers were forbidden or ignorant. The more he saw, the more he wanted to know.
She smiled, the first time he’d seen her do that. “Retiring, no, it doesn’t quite work like that. I have a job to do and then I do it and then I find another job. There’s always work to be done.” She gestured around her. “These places don’t tend themselves. They need upkeep. The minute they’re left alone, things fall apart.”
“But there’s other librarians.” He was a bit confused.
“Yes there are, indeed. Time moves on, the old leave and the young take their place. But things get forgotten that way. Lost. Sometimes too many things. Then people forget why we even have libraries, and no matter how hard those other librarians work, it just isn’t enough. That’s why there have to be other kinds of librarians. The kind that don’t leave, but keep returning.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Have you ever read the story of Theseus?”
His stepmother was standing before him, leaning on one side of the palace courtyard gates. He was too angry to wonder how she’d gotten there ahead of him.
“Begone, barbarian whore!” Theseus waved his hand dismissively as he strode past her. He looked back once more at the gate, returned his gaze forward, and again saw Medea leaned against the same post, before him as she had been. He slowed his stride and felt for his blade.
“What is this,” he growled at her.
“Do you not know, you who seem to know me?”
“I know you for a murderer, and your spawn for a usurper.”
“Then you know tales and nonsense . . . Such as you the gods give the world for men to call heroes . . .” She rolled her eyes and laughed in a way that kept his hand on his sword.
“You wish me dead. You wish my father’s kingdom for your own. And you corrupt this city with your foreign ways. You will find your charms lost upon me, fresh from the wilds, feeding the crows . . .”
“Enough of this. A time will come when men call you Wise Theseus; clearly the sun has not risen on that day as yet. You must know one thing about me at any rate- my curse.”
“For murder and betrayal . . ? For the blood of your sons? Is that your curse?”
“I killed no sons, for Jason sired none, nor daughters besides. Heroes are not always so bold when out of men’s sight. It was my own father, whom I betrayed to aid him, and my brother, whom I slew for him. For the love of one who betrayed me in turn, for that I am cursed. And my punishment is to forevermore aid such as you- callow, selfish, and arrogant men- until the day should come when one might rise above his nature and become a true hero.”
“My father was a true hero, and in your arms he withers . . .”
“He failed to become what he could have been. That does not have to be your destiny.”
“Of what do you speak?”
“Do you know from whence comes the prosperity of the city?”
“Men gain with gold and cunning what they are too cowardly to win by the spear?”
“Pai amatha! So quickly do you dismiss what you are too dull to understand. It is such that makes for a civilized world, ease that allows for the life of the mind.”
“The people here seem content to leave their minds at their doorsteps. If what they’ve learned has taught them this I’d say the were better off without it.”
“It’s not what they’ve gained that has corrupted them, but what they’ve lost.”
“What do you mean?” Despite himself Theseus found himself genuinely curious where this was going.
“The wealth of Athens comes from trade. Minos, across the sea in ancient Krete, sends his bounty hither.”
“And what does he ask in return?”
“Seven youths and seven maidens, the fairest and most noble, to be delivered to him each year, never to return.”
“What happens to them?”
“No one asks . . .”
“By Zeus, you send the best of your youth to exile and death to ensure your prosperity? What monsters sell the future for the present!?”
“Monsters, you say . . .” Medea noted how he spat the word. “Suppose I were to tell you that just such a creature dwells in Krete, in the very bowels of the palace of Minos?”
Theseus focused on her intently. “You know of this?”
“I know many things, boy, and I know that what lives in the darkness in Krete is a devourer of men. He is beyond your understanding.” She drew close and squeezed his arm. “And perhaps your strength . . .”
“I have slain men and monsters alike and I will slay this fiend who feasts on my countrymen!”
“The ship for Knossos leaves in one week. Your coming was fortuitous; it seems the gods have set this path before you. Take the name of one of the young men and go forth to Krete and to your destiny.”
Theseus’ blood was up, but something stirred within him, a feeling he had not known before- doubt. His nous seized hold of his thumos and he spoke. “You mean for me to depart my home to fight this demon in some foreign dungeon while you sit enthroned, with your boy to follow my father as king. Suppose I strike you dead right here and send your infant in the stead of a pure Athenian?”
Medea’s eyes grew stormy again for but a moment and then softened as her lips curled into a laugh. “I forget sometimes what fools men are. You will be great one day- that I have seen. Your city will be great. But none of my blood will sit upon its throne. No, boy, I despise the Hellenes, the whole treacherous race of you, and my son Medus will sire a line in the east that will burn Athens to ashes. I have seen that as well. You will kill the monster, or he will kill you; it makes no difference to me. You will see me once more on the dock and then never more.”
“I thought your curse bade you help we arrogant mortals. You abandon us so quickly?”
“You mock me, but I will yet save you- perhaps. On Krete there is one who sees as I do, worships the same goddess, understands what you yet do not about the monster. She you must find, for if you do not, you will go forth into the black abyss without a single light to guide you. And thus you must certainly perish.”
“She? Who is she?”
“I help in my own way, arrogant child. Find her yourself. In the meantime, sleep near the docks. If you return to the palace I’ll have to murder you to keep up appearances.”
Theseus turned his gaze to the gate, glancing through toward the distant port of Piraeus. When he turned back after his brief look, his stepmother was gone.
He considered returning to the palace anyway for a moment, but thought the better of it just as quickly and made his way down the hill, looking forward to a week of rough camping among the denizens of the wharf.
—Continued in Part Two—
For all of you kindly praising the story and anticipating part two, it will be on the way shortly.
Fantastic! Can't wait for Part II!