sunslammers
patreon
1.57 [Aetos]
🕑 Added 2022-01-05 07:34:41 +0000 UTCYoungest of the Convocation
Dawn break my oath and cast me down, say all who walk in chains;
If turning wheels are what’s to come, I’d rather die in vain!
Lord take this son into your hand, I’ll stare until I’m blind;
Who needs their eyes to guide them home - on freedom’s wings we’ll fly.
I hummed an easy tune as I went about my work, the rosy light of a new day touching upon the furthest reaches of Alikos and her valence territories. The weather was pleasant - this early in the day, it was still cool enough to wear cult attire without cursing the kyrios that designed it. There was a breeze carried over the Ionian that soothed the sweat on a toiling man’s brow and reminded him that clear waves were waiting for him once his work was done.
Normally, I would still be fast asleep at this early hour. Today was an exceptional day, however. It was Kronia, the day that slaves rested and their masters labored in their place. Even a young pillar of the Rosy Dawn was no exception to tradition, and so here I was. Toiling away at first light so that others might rest.
“Honored Aetos, please - we don’t need that much timber!”
Admittedly, I may have gone beyond the duties strictly required. But what was a cultivator to do if not his best?
“I told you to call me Stavros for today,” I chided the flustered slave while I wrestled an ash tree out of the earth.
His name was Thon and he was usually stationed in the gymnasium, which meant I ran into him more than the average slave in the Rosy Dawn. He had something of an obsession with boxing, always observing initiates out of the corner of his eyes while about his work. And if his squashed and crooked nose was any indication, he did more than just observe the sport while in the company of his fellow bonded men.
It was common practice for the initiates of the cult to serve at least one slave their meals throughout the day. Generally, the Aetos family entertained the senior servants while the rest of the mystikos took their pick of those they were fondest of within the ranks. It was an interesting experience, if nothing else, and more than a few unlikely pairs would come together for today while all were equal beneath the sun.
This time last year, I had been in the courtyard with my brothers, tending to the filial pools while the oldest of our estate’s servants told us stories of our grandfather‘s generation and the feats its greatest cultivators had accomplished. The year before that I would have been in the gardens that my father’s mother had nurtured before any of the young pillars were born, carefully pulling weeds and tending to lilies, roses, and delicate chrysanthemums.
Kronia was a holiday that disdained all natural hierarchies. That was the ideal, at any rate. In reality, a lesser initiate would normally be here in my place, gathering timber for night fires and reconstruction. Even on a day like this, a young pillar of the Rosy Dawn had more suitable tasks he could be doing. That being said, here I was.
Today was exceptional in more ways than one.
The mighty ash tree groaned and gave way in a cacophony of splintering wood. I tore it from the earth, roots and all, and heaved it over my right shoulder, breathing a steady rhythm that broke up the strain and dispersed it through my body. The hunting bird’s breath was a meditative technique I’d resented my father for making me learn as a boy, but these days I was grateful for every breath it granted me.
I eyed the other upended tree that I’d dumped off to the side after finding this one - a soft cypress that could brush the roof of the gymnasium if I planted it inside. I carefully knelt, balancing the ash with one arm while I slid a hand under the balancing point of the cypress.
Thon crouched on the other side of the uprooted cypress and heaved on it with all his strength. I clicked my tongue but accepted the help for what it was, rolling the great tree into the crook of my arm and bouncing it up onto my empty shoulder.
“This is your day, Thon,” I told him. The man stumbled back, red-faced and panting. “The boys will have me over a barrel if you injure yourself trying to help with my share.”
“Yes, honored Aetos.” The slave’s broken nose wrinkled grotesquely with his grin. I barked a laugh.
“Ugly, arrogant slave.” I stood, carefully turning so neither of the trees on my shoulders struck the surrounding forestry. “Come. We’ll be late to lunch if we don’t hurry home, and then what will I do with all the lessons on courtesy your sister’s been giving me?”
Thon punched me in my unguarded side. It hurt him more than it hurt me, shackled as he was, but it was a good jab for a man without any pneuma. He’d been paying attention while at work in the gymnasium.
I considered the motley forests of the valley ahead, and the Scarlet City beyond. Thon cursed viciously beside me, shaking out his injured hand.
“Your sister hits harder than that,” I said absently, and chuckled at the answering kick to the back of my knee. “But the form wasn’t bad. You’ve been practicing.”
“I’m a humble slave,” Thon said through grit teeth, hobbling after me. He’d be walking that one off for the rest of the morning. “I would never try to take the sublime martial techniques of the Rosy Dawn for myself.”
“Naturally not,” I agreed, turning his way. Thon yelped and ducked as the ash tree balanced on my right shoulder nearly knocked him off his feet. “Ah, my mistake. This lowly sophist is inexperienced in the ways of working men.”
“That much is apparent.”
Thon was a sensible man, and good at what he did around the cult. On any other day he wouldn’t have dreamed of talking to an initiate of the Rosy Dawn in such a way, let alone to me. But Kronia brought the best out of us all. For today and today alone, I’d allow him the snark.
“You know, you’ve been improving in more than just the martial pursuits. I hear you’ve been making quite a bit of money playing that flute of yours for the women in the outer estates. Enough in the last two years to nearly afford your freedom's price.”
Thon raised an eyebrow. “The young aristocrat has been keeping track of me?”
“This young aristocrat has been keeping track of you. The young aristocrat has better things to do with his time.”
“Apologies,” he said at once, an ugly grimace marring his face. “I misspoke.”
It was odd, at times, seeing the truth of what a man could look like without the radiance of his vital essence to smooth his outer imperfections. Even the lowest citizen enjoyed the benefit of gradual refinement while their pneuma flowed freely and unfettered. To become a member of any greater mystery cult, even the low Rosy Dawn, an individual had to be truly gifted. That meant that nearly every man, woman, and child an initiate saw on a daily basis would be unnaturally pleasing to the eye. Each of them several steps closer to the divine standard than the average vagrant. Let alone a barbarian.
The slaves in our estates kept us grounded. Unable to cultivate virtue, their vital essence shackled by iron and chains, they kept us grounded in more ways than one. They were a living reminder of how far we had come, outside and in. A reminder of how far we had yet to go.
And they were a comfort to the juniors. Even the lowest initiate could take heart in the fact that they weren’t the ugliest on the mountain.
“I rescind my apology.”
I blinked. “For what purpose?”
“You were thinking something vile just now. It was written all over your face.”
“Fascinating. I’d try reading yours, but someone’s crumpled the papyrus.”
“No, please,” he said in a flat monotone, “not my ego.” I smirked and swung the trees around again, forcing him to drop.
We continued back towards the Scarlet City and the eastern mountain range beyond in that way, amiable conversation and the occasional jab to keep things interesting. It was a refreshing change of pace from his usual quiet acquiescence. The Thon that offered me towels and lathered my body in olive oil before a round in the octagon was a slave like any other, just barely notable for his inability to ignore a good boxing match. The Thon I had chosen to entertain for the Kronia was another man altogether.
Someone I wouldn’t mind exchanging discourse with more often. Haa. As always, my brother had been right. Damn.
“Honored Aetos,” Thon eventually said, after an extended lull in conversation. I didn’t respond, humming along to the same tune as before. He sighed. “Stavros.”
“Yes?”
We were nearly back now, the sun fast approaching its zenith. I could’ve made the trip in half the time, of course, if not a quarter. But I had asked Thon to show me where the good timber was, and it would’ve been rude to leave him behind afterwards. Especially today. I suppose it was fine. I hadn’t been given a particularly strict deadline for this task.
“Why have you been keeping track of me?” He finally asked, having finally mustered up the courage. It had taken him the entire agonizing trek through the city - which was hardly a friendly trip for a man hauling two trees over his shoulders - and half the way up the eastern mountain range, but he’d gotten there in the end.
“Because,” I answered, “a young pillar of the Rosy Dawn has the privilege of sponsoring anyone of their choosing when it comes time for the rites. So long as we see them through it to the end, and so long as we take responsibility for their performance in the cult from then on, we can choose anyone we want. Even a slave.”
Thon stumbled. I dipped my shoulder obligingly so he could catch himself on one of the uprooted ash’s swaying branches.
“You mean,” he stammered. “You- sponsoring me? For the Rosy
Dawn?”
“If you’re worthy of it,” I said, shrugging with some effort. The hunting bird’s breath dispersed the worst of the strain involved in carrying two trees like they were country yolks, but it had been a long trip. I was still only a Philosopher at the end of the day. “It is within my power to nominate a slave, but I’d rather not. Understand? If I were you, I would play that flute of yours extra sweet for the girls in the junior estates, and ascribe whatever meaning to the tune that would please them most. They’ll pay you more if you do.”
“So if I’m free next year -”
“If you’re worth something next year,” I cut him off. Horribly rude of me, and on Kronia of all days. Alas, I didn’t have nearly as much patience for mortals as my brothers did. “Pay your freedom's price as soon as you can and start cultivating virtue. Mimicking what you see a cultivator do in the gymnasium with shackles around your wrists is one thing. Executing a martial form as it was meant to be executed is something entirely different. Give yourself as much time as you possibly can to become a boxer as I am a boxer, and I'll see where you’re at when the trials come around again.”
“Stavros… This-” The slave with the ugly, beaten face swallowed heavily. “I am honored beyond all words-”
“I’d prefer it if you were honored beyond tears,” I said, nose scrunching in distaste. “If the rest of you is any indication, your crying face must be grotesque.”
A choked laugh. Thon dug the heels of his hands into his eyes, holding them there for a second and then scrubbing viciously. When he removed them his eyes were clear and bright.
“Thank you,” he said earnestly. I hummed dismissively. I hadn’t promised him anything yet - nothing that he wouldn’t have to take for himself. “But forgive me, and please don’t take this the wrong way - why?”
“Why?”
“Why me?” he amended. “As long as I’ve been here, the young pillars of the Rosy Dawn have never sponsored a single soul - freedman or not.”
We finally crested the outer peak of the eastern mountain range, stepping off the worn and scattered paths of the mountain and up onto the carved steps that lead to the Rosy Dawn Cult.
“Why?” It was a good question. There was a good answer for it as well, I was sure. I didn’t know what it was though. I just knew what I’d been told.
“We’ll need eight.”
“I wonder,” I said, and made my way to the central pavilion where the bulk of the night fires would be lit come dusk.
“What is - young Aetos, what is this? How many fires do you think we’re starting tonight? Where did you even find a cypress of this size!?”
Tragedy of tragedies, I’d brought too much after all.
“Excuse this lowly sophist, elder,” I said, bowing my head while the old philosopher grumbled and hacked away at the timber I’d brought along with a dozen lesser initiates. “I’m lacking in a servant’s wisdom. Allow me to make up for this lapse in judgment.”
A junior mystiko squawked in alarm as I shouldered him aside and dug my fingers into the soft bark of the cypress tree, dragging a long strip of bark cleanly off the trunk. The old philosopher, an elder by the name of Poecas that cultivated the virtue of boring me to tears in his lectures, sighed and combed agitated fingers through a thick gray beard.
“Do as you wish, young Aetos. We’re all slaves today-”
“Done,” I said, clapping my hands in satisfaction. The junior mystikos and the elder philosopher all stared down at the cypress and the ash, each stripped of their bark and branches by brisk swipes of my hands and a bit of pneuma.
“Young Aetos,” Poecas said slowly. “The trunks are still intact.”
“An eyesore to be sure,” I said, nodding firmly. “I’ll get them out of your sight, honored elder.”
“Wait-”
But it was too late. A young pillar’s jaunty stroll down the other side of the eastern mountain range was an old scholar’s full sprint, even with two freshly trimmed tree trunks hoisted over my shoulders to slow me down. Thon shouted something as I left them to their work, but he’d served his purpose for the day and he was far too slow to wait for. My deadline wasn’t strict, per se, but that didn’t mean I could take all day. If I did that, I’d be last.
And I refused to be last.
Out of the corner of my eye, as if by providence at that moment, I spotted a ruggedly handsome cultivator with a face identical to mine leaping out of a window to the kyrios’ main estate. He soared through the air, a massive bundle of scarlet cloth held tight in his arms and a wild grin on his handsome face. As he hurtled through the air and down the mountain, past me, my twin brother and I locked eyes.
Fotios Stavros whooped and gave me the finger.
We made it to the docks at exactly the same time.
“First!” Fotios shouted regardless, tossing his bundle of scarlet cloth up into the air in victory.
“The audacity,” I panted, furious and exhausted in equal measure. I shrugged the ash and the cypress off my shoulders, each kicking up scalding white sand as they hit the beach. “We got here at the same time!”
“How did the heel of my foot taste, Stav?”
I spat and tackled the handsome bastard into the sand.
“Neither of you were first,” came an amused voice, the quiet hiss of shifting sand and a looming shadow over our heads. The second oldest of the new generation smirked as he leaned down over us both, one hand on his hip and the other on the hilt of his belted sword. “I got here hours ago, and I was only second.”
“That doesn’t count,” Fotios said at once. “He never left last night.”
“And no one cares about you, Gyro,” I added. Our older brother scoffed and kicked sand into our faces.
“Come on, then,” Anargyros Aetos said, turning back to the mess of wooden construction on the far eastern side of the beach docks. “Damon’s only one man, and this ship won’t build itself.”
Comments
Tessellae
We know Anargyros dies ~25 years before the start of the story, because Niko is 7 years older than Griffon
Padeko
Interesting. We know that Anargyros dies at some point, and Damon wants to leave just as Griffon does.
