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Chapter Fourteen: The Dying Light

The thick wooden door creaked loudly against its scorched hinges as Pelion pushed his way into the chamber. All about him, wafts of smoke drifted hazily in the air, their bitter, acrid taste staining the back of his throat as he paused at the room's threshold to survey the tableau of carnage that had been wrought before him.

The Pneuma chamber was all but lost. Black burn marks tainted the previously pristine stone walls, the drapes that had hung all about the room were little more than a charred mess, and in places the wooden ceiling had even collapsed, its timbers scattered in irregular heaps of rubble across the chamber floor to reveal the star streaked night sky above. The thick vat that had once held the sickly yellow Pneuma, was now little more than a twisted, molten lump of metal, the Pneuma itself long having evaporated under the heat of the blazing flames. He wanted to curse at the inconvenience of it all, but several of the younger, newer initiates were already present, milling about uncertainly and making a halfhearted effort to sift through and clear up some of the mess as he watched them, and it simply would not do appear so vexed in front of those new to the faith.

"Our Faith," one of the Brothers said eagerly as he looked up and noticed Pelion for the first time. Pelion gave a brief nod of acknowledgement in return. The man looked crestfallen at the lack of a true response, but Pelion just ignored him. The fire had been devastating, not only to the east wing of the temple, but to the morale of many of the younger initiates as well. Up until now they had been so strong, so sure of their cause, their purpose. Callisto had changed all that. She and Athelis had waltzed into the temple as easily as could be and wreaked destruction upon them so simply, so handily even, that it was as if they had not even been trying.

It only reaffirmed his belief that Callisto was the right choice for the role of Strength and, indeed, that Mortius' selection, sensible though it may first appear, was actually far from flawless. If she could so easily bring such chaos into their ranks, just imagine the damage she could do to their enemies!

He glanced around the worried, pallid faces surrounding him, and had to do his best to suppress a disgusted sneer. At least those assigned to the clean-up were all new Brothers and Sisters. He did not have time to be playing nursemaid to a group of fresh faced latecomers, and he would have hated to see those of genuine faith be so easily undone by something as inconsequential as this small fire. Events in Sparta were beginning to accelerate, building up momentum as if they were the first falling stones in what would later become an unstoppable avalanche, and if that simple fact alone was more than these newcomers could handle, it was probably best to know now, before those doubtlessly faithless few among them had the chance to do any real damage to the morale of the others.

No, he would not give these new Brothers and Sisters any comfort now. In the absence of the Pneuma, let this be the first real test of their steadfastness. Let their faith carry them through, and if it did not... well then he would have to see to that little problem later.

Suddenly, as another of the Brothers attempted to lift a large and particularly heavy roof beam unaided, they gave a sharp start and a cry of surprise, dropping the beam back to the ground and onto whatever had lain beneath it with a sickening crunch.

Pelion frowned.

"What is it?" he asked, finally stepping fully into the room, his curiosity piqued.

"I... I..." the man began to stammer, then swallowed hard as Pelion fixed him with an impatient glare before managing to continue. "I think it might be one of the missing Brothers, Faith of our Lord."

He swallowed again, this time sounding somewhat sickened.

"Or what's left of them," he finished.

Pelion's frown deepened as he moved carefully across the room, picking his way cautiously across the numerous piles of debris and ash until he reached the Brother's side. He looked down at the beam. It was broad and thick easily weighing at least as much as a man and had probably crushed whomever it had fallen upon.

"You, and you," he ordered, gesturing to two other nearby Followers. "Help our Brother here move this thing would you. I want to see just who it is we lost this day."

The men obliged, quickly moving to the original man's side and removing the beam with loud protesting groans of aching muscles and stiff backs. Pelion stepped closer to get a better look at what they were uncovering and was not in the least surprised to see a body. He stared impassively down at it, his expression completely blank. The charred and shrunken corpse lay among the rubble as if it had been carefully laid down there to sleep. It was scrunched up tightly in a fetal pose, much of the hair having been burned away to leave only a few heat whitened wisps, while the flesh around what once been a petulant but smiling mouth had drawn back sharply into what was now a terrible, stark toothed grin.

"Who do you think it is, Faith of our Lord?"

"Brother Marsus," Pelion replied simply. "He was the only male undergoing the purification that has as yet been unaccounted for."

It was as he had feared. Those Brothers and Sisters undergoing the purification had been too deep under the effects of the Pneuma, lost in the gaps between conscious thought where those most intimate of passions and fears dwelt. Pathetic really. They had been so lost, so utterly consumed that none of them had awoken when the fire started; not even as its fierce and hungry flames had begun to devour their flesh.

He scratched thoughtfully at the back of his scalp as a familiar itching sensation began to tickle the inside of his skull. It was a not a true itch, but something else. An early signal of approach that he had begun to recognise.

He glanced at the others around him.

"If you would all excuse me," he said softly, "I would have a moment of privacy."

The Brother next to him nodded.

"Of course, Faith of our Lord," he said. They all knew Marsus and Perites had been among the first of the Followers to join Pelion at Penthos, and aid him in rekindling the spark of their ancient order here in Sparta. Now both were dead, and to their minds, some small measure of respect was due.

One by one, the rest of the Followers turned and headed out of the chamber. Pelion caught a few soft commiserations being offered as they filed out past him, but the majority remained silent until he was left alone in the chamber. Now it was just he and Marsus' corpse.

He stood quietly for a time, regarding the body where it lay. The itching was becoming more intense now, almost painful even. He could hear it on the breeze now, wafting in from the hole in the ceiling above; a soft whispering almost inaudible to him, and he knew for a fact, completely inaudible to anyone else. Slowly but confidently, he cocked his head slightly to the side.

" Pelion,"  the low voice rasped sibilantly inside his mind.  "Do you hear me, my Faith?"

Pelion nodded slightly.

"I do, Lord Cronus" he whispered under his breath.

" Do not address me,"  Cronus said,  "My Soul comes, and he must not know of my communion with you,"

"But why?" Pelion asked. "Are we not both your faithful servants?"

" I am your LORD!"  Cronus' voice was like barbed steel being dragged across the surface of his thoughts, and Pelion had to struggle not to wince openly.  "I will not be questioned! Do you understand?"

Pelion remained silent.

" DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"  If a whisper could be said to have shouted, then that was how Cronus sounded now.

Pelion nodded hurriedly to himself but did not speak. He had learned his lesson.

" Excellent, my Faith,"  the voice hissed as Pelion's eyes fell upon Marsus' corpse once more.  "This one has failed you, Pelion. But more importantly, he has failed me! You must let him know how much!"

Pelion felt his knuckles tighten furiously around the staff he clutched and he spat angrily into a nearby pile of ash.

"I know you can hear me Marsus," he sneered down at the body before him. "The dead are always listening. Is this how you show your loyalty, hmm? Is this how you prove your faith to our Lord? He is most displeased with you now. Dead you are of no further use to him! Your paltry soul was as nothing to the barrier and a sacrifice without purpose is as pointless as a life without the same! When our Lord has Returned, I will see to it that he seeks you out in the Underworld, wherever you might be, and punishes you for your failure!"

His eyes flickered left and right over the ashes that surrounded them.

"Carry my message to the others down there with you," he finished. "Let them all know how thoroughly you have angered our Lord, and what suffering awaits them when he is once again free."

" Excellently done my Faith,"  the voice in the back of his mind muttered.  "The dead must know the price for a lack of faith as much as the living."

Pelion gave the corpse a final disdainful nudge with the toe of his shoe, rocking it slightly before turning on his heel, the end of his staff crunching in the ash as he began to make for the exit. He had gone no more than a couple of steps, when out of the corner of his eye, he saw the shadows begin to twist and writhe unnaturally. Instinctively, he straightened slightly. How had Cronus known Mortius was coming?

"Not so alone after all it would appear," he muttered ruefully as the shadows peeled back to reveal the tall, dour Soul standing before him, as chilling and eerie as ever in his long dark robes, and carrying that same sickle bladed staff the way he always did.

" Ah, he is finally here!"  Pelion heard Cronus hiss.  "Be cautious Pelion. He is my servant as you are, but he has ever been wayward and contrary. Perhaps some lingering scraps of his life before. Something must be done about that, yes, something must be done..."

Cronus' voice trailed off quietly into inaudibility as if her were moving further and further way, while Mortius continued to stand perfectly still, watching Pelion closely from beneath the shaded folds of his hood. For long moments he neither said nor did anything, then slowly his head turned slightly, gazing past Pelion's shoulder to the ruined vat beyond him.

"The Pneuma supply is lost then?" he asked flatly. Pelion waved his hand dismissively.

"It's not as if we can't get more," he replied. "I have already dispatched some of the more trustworthy Brothers and Sisters to head out to the tomb and acquire us a fresh batch. The purifications will begin again as soon as they return."

"And when will it be likely to arrive?" Mortius asked.

"I should imagine by tomorrow evening or the morning of the day after," Pelion replied. "The tomb is a half days walk from the city, and the return journey will be decidedly slower, weighed down as they will be."

"Need I remind you that, should all go to plan, the numbers of our initiates will begin to climb drastically before the week is out?" Mortius replied. "The Purification ritual will have to be continuously carried out from that point on."

" Should  all go to plan," Pelion echoed him, placing particular emphasis on the 'should'. "I am still not entirely convinced by this plan. Your man's ability has not exactly shone these last couple of days and he has still yet to impress me. So far, Callisto has managed interfere with his efforts most handily."

"And he has adapted each time," Mortius replied.

"And for how long can we keep reacting?" Pelion said smartly. "We cannot always be on the back foot Mortius. We need to be one step ahead at all times if we are to succeed. Can your man actually put us there?"

Mortius stepped more fully into the chamber, the shadows crawling in his wake as he moved face to face with Pelion. Pelion could not help but notice the slightly stiff way in which he was moving now. His usual serpentine grace was lacking, and instead he was holding his body straighter and more rigid, as if he were in pain. Had Callisto actually succeeded in injuring him during their fight? Could it really be possible? Mortius was the most formidable fighter he had ever seen and yet...

His thoughts trailed off and he gave a mental grin. Callisto was becoming all the more interesting at every encounter.

"Are you challenging my choice for the role of Strength?" Mortius said as he stopped just short of Pelion to tower intimidatingly over him. His voice was perfectly flat, but something about the way he spoke suggested to Pelion that he had actually managed to get under the Soul's skin. Suddenly, Cronus' voice blurted out loudly in his mind and seeming to come from all sides at once, still whispered but strangely clear at the same time.

" LIES PELION!"  It hissed,  "Lies! His choice is poor, and one I did not condone!"  Pelion felt a trickle of sweat beginning to run down the small of his back. Was it true? Was Mortius really lying to him? But he could see no reason for Great Cronus to lie to him either. It did not really matter in either case. His Lord was listening and he had to demonstrate that he was at least as capable as Cronus' other chief lieutenant.

"Should it not be  our  choice," he retorted smugly. "The Strength is supposed to be  our  strong right arm after all. Were those not your exact words?"

" Yessss, YESSSSS!"  Cronus crowed eagerly.  "Do not let him rule you my Faith! I have no need for mindless slaves! You were both born to be my avatars, instruments of my will! Until the day of my Return, you are as much my voice and my hands as he!"

Pelion smiled pleasantly at that comment, but Mortius did not so much as flinch. Could he not hear what Cronus was saying? It would seem likely not.

"And who then would you suggest?" Mortius replied in a tone that could have frozen a peaceful summer's day.

Pelion continued to smile at him.

"Callisto is a most impressive individual..." he began, but Mortius cut him off instantly.

"I have already told you my feelings on this matter, and our Lord agrees with me!" he snapped, and for the first time, Pelion was surprised to hear a hint of annoyance in the dour figure's voice.

" More lies!"  Cronus sneered darkly.  "But Callisto! Yessss! A fine choice Pelion! No, a perfect choice! A perfect choice indeed, not to mention an ironic one, since she has  already  been chosen!"

Pelion's head was beginning to throb painfully. Each time Cronus spoke, it sent slivers of pain coursing through his mind, and each time, it grew more intense than the last.

"She has been a most effective thorn in our sides," he answered to Mortius, doing his level best not to let slip the two conversations he was trying to keep up with, "always a step ahead of us, pre-empting our every move. There is so much anger in her too, so much fury and hate that our Lord could use! Imagine if she were our ally instead of our enemy..."

Mortius waved him into silence.

"She is not the one, Pelion, no matter how many times you try to present her as such. Our long term goals are not served one bit by having her under our control,"

" Ah, but the Olympians, my Faith, the Olympians would use her!"  Cronus continued at the very edge of hearing, " I hear her thoughts at this very moment! She thinks of me, and of them; of a king already one foot in the grave and of a paradise that awaits her should I be put down. Even now she goes to them for direction, as a weapon to be wielded so expertly against us! We must deny them her Pelion! We MUST!"

Pelion nearly gasped as Cronus' sibilant hissing crescendoed so violently in his mind, it felt as if his head were about to explode.

"But our plans  will  be damaged if we allow her to continue working against us!" He managed to say when he had recovered his wits enough to overcome the pounding pain between his temples. "Don't you see, Mortius! She is their agent, the one we always knew they would send against us!"

Mortius stared at him steadily.

"You think she is a tool of the Olympians?" he said.

"I do!" Pelion replied honestly. "It would make sense would it not? Callisto is one of the most feared warlords in all of Greece. She would make a fine choice to oppose us, and it surely cannot be coincidental that she keeps cropping up wherever we go, first in Penthos and now here..."

He was about to continue but Mortius had already straightened and was turning and striding back toward the clustered shadows at the far end of the room.

"Where are you going?" Pelion called after him in confusion.

" To do what he does best,"  Cronus hissed.  "To be my loyal attack dog, and end lives in my name!"

"What you say has the ring of truth," Mortius replied thoughtfully, his voice cutting Cronus off as if he could actually hear their Lord and was interrupting him. "If Callisto is an agent of the Olympian pretenders, a pawn in their little game, then its time she was removed from the board."

" Do not let this happen, my Faith!"  Cronus whispered, his tone suddenly desperate.  "She has uses the Olympians have never even dreamed of. I would have her at my side come the day of my Return."

Pelion nodded, half to himself and half to Cronus as his mind raced to come up with some way to keep Mortius from leaving.

"But we have no idea where she is!" he protested finally. "She could be anywhere in the city by now. She could have even fled! She made it here, it certainly wouldn't be a challenge for her to escape Sparta altogether."

"I already know her location," Mortius replied steadily. "I have been watching her movements, and have been kept informed as to her status by a third party."

"Then where is she?" Pelion said, feeling confused. Mortius had been in Sparta less than a month, and already he seemed to be well informed of the comings and goings of anyone worth mentioning. But Callisto was not a local, and few in the city even knew what she looked like. How then was it, that he could so easily know of her whereabouts and so accurately to boot? Pelion would have given a hundred dinars to figure out the taller man's secrets.

"She was last seen entering the Temple of Ares," Mortius replied, and Pelion snapped his fingers, the sound echoing self-consciously loudly in the quiet air of the chamber. Despite all the authority Mortius had claimed Pelion possessed, it was hard sometimes hard to shake the feeling that he was really a simple whipping boy, a second in command stooge to Mortius' main event.

"The Oracle!" he announced lightly. "She's going to see the Oracle!"

Mortius stopped just short of the clustered shadows at the end of the room, and turned to face Pelion again. If Pelion had not known better, he would have sworn the other man was grinning at him from beneath that hood.

"An excellent opportunity to kill two birds with one stone, wouldn't you agree?" he said as the shadows crawled out to claim him.

*****

Leonidas paced back and forth across the chamber, his arms folded unhappily across his chest as he watched Callisto slip onto the long stone slab, swinging her feet up so that she was sitting cross legged with her arms draped across her knees in a surprisingly girlish manner.

"What's the matter?" she asked him, her head cocked slightly to one side. "You look as happy about all this as I feel."

"Maybe you should try telling me something to feel happy about then," Leonidas replied, and glanced over to where Miranda was standing, stirring morosely at the vat of vile smelling yellow Pneuma. "My men are preparing for war, the Helots are on the verge of revolt, and the Ephors are busy handing the whole city over to Xerxes and his army on a silver platter. Meanwhile, here I am, standing around waiting for some kind of vision quest to tell me if an ancient, primordial Titan is about to return to the land of the living so that he can wreak havoc across all of Greece!"

"I fail to see your problem," Callisto said with a mischievous grin, and Leonidas rolled his eyes.

"Now is hardly the time for jokes, Callisto," he said.

"You're right," she nodded with mock seriousness, "but that's never stopped me from telling them before."

"Leonidas has never had much faith I'm afraid," Miranda interjected as she ladled a large spoonful of Pneuma into a small clay bowl, then placed a lid over the top of it, before crossing back to the slab upon which Callisto was sitting.

"He's right not to," the blonde warrior woman said and looked back to Leonidas. "I've had my fare share of experience dealing with the gods, and don't you think for one moment that they actually care about any of us."

"So who should he place his faith in then?" Miranda jeered back, "You?" She shook her head ruefully. "Don't make me laugh."

"At least I'm trying to help," Callisto snapped back at her. "Where was Ares when they needed him at Marathon? Where is he now even, when those who are most faithful to him need him more than ever?"

Miranda fixed her with a steady look.

"He sent me the visions of you coming here didn't he?" she said, then muttered, "much as I wish he hadn't."

She crossed to the slab and placed her hand across Callisto's forehead and pushed her gently down onto the slab.

"Now lie back and try to relax," Miranda continued, her voice now full of a quiet authority that surprised Leonidas. He had never heard her speak that way before. "A person's first exposure to the Pneuma can be somewhat..."

she paused and flashed Callisto a sinister smile.

"...uncomfortable," she concluded.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Callisto asked, propping herself up on her elbows and eyeing the other woman suspiciously.

"It means this will hurt," Miranda said evenly. "A lot."

Callisto continued to regard the other woman steadily for long moments, then, finally, she gave a shrug and lay back obligingly on the slab again, her hands folding neatly across her stomach as she did so.

"I suppose  I have  already been suffocated, stabbed, burned, buried alive and tortured in Tartarus," she said, then suddenly clapped her hands together in mock excitement.

"Ooooh yes!" she exclaimed, "There was that one time Xena cut my hand off as well!"

She wiggled her fingers playfully for effect.

"By comparison this should be easy street, so let's just get on with it shall we?"

Miranda gave her own return shrug.

"As you wish," she said.

Leonidas continued to pace uncomfortably back and forth, watching as Miranda moved to her side, still carrying the covered bowl of the strange, noxious liquid. He did not know what to make of all this. In all his life he had never come across anything that he could not explain or believe in with his own two eyes, but all this talk of gods, titans, mystical barriers, visions and prophecies was way above his head. How could these two women treat it so simply, as if it were all in a days work for them?

"Callisto, I'm..." he began, but she cut him off with a single raised finger.

"...not sure about this, I know," she finished for him. She turned her head to fix him with a determined gaze from where she lay. "To be honest with you, I don't really want to do it either, but this is the only way to find out what the gods really want of me, and if there's any way to save you."

She turned her head to stare back at the ceiling, leaving Leonidas speechless.

"Now, can we please get on with it before I change my mind?" she said. Miranda nodded, then gestured to Leonidas.

"I'll need your help," she said and he crossed quickly to her side.

"What do you need?"

"When the Pneuma takes hold, she's going to buck, and buck hard," Miranda said, motioning for him to hold Callisto down. "I'd rather not end up taking a dagger through the eye when she does."

Callisto grinned up at her.

"Why would you think I'd need to wait for the Pneuma to kick in to do that?" she said.

"Just hold her," Miranda said, ignoring the other woman.

Nodding, Leonidas braced his arms hard against Callisto's shoulders as she turned her grin to him, their faces now no more than a few inches apart.

"Why, Leonidas!" she said, a note of mocking amusement in her voice. "I didn't know you cared."

Leonidas cocked an eyebrow at her.

"Be safe, Callisto," he said simply as Miranda reached out with the bowl, holding it beneath Callisto's nose. Her grin widened.

"Aren't I always?" she said.

"You've somehow managed to die twice," he answered, without even a hint of irony. "I'd say, not really, no."

"Well, why break the habit of a lifetime now?" Callisto replied smartly.

"I need silence please, both of you," Miranda said, and Leonidas nodded, his fingers tightening around the shoulder pads of Callisto's armour.

"When I remove the lid from the pot, you must breathe deep, you understand?" Miranda continued, and Callisto nodded.

"I've got it," she said.

"Alright then," Miranda replied.

When she spoke again, her voice had changed, becoming deeper and more resonant, as she began a solemn intonation that few beyond the temple's inner circle of priests would ever normally get to hear.

"Oh great Ares, Lord of all conflict and war, grant us now the power to see with thine own eyes into the darkest recesses of our souls, and in so doing, the clarity to pierce the veil of the now, and travel the undiscovered lands that lie beyond," as she spoke she reached down and pulled the lid from the pot. Placing it to one side, she held the pot close to Callisto's mouth and nose as a faint sulphuric scent filled the air around them, and an odd sickly yellow steam began to rise up from the clay container.

Callisto glanced at Miranda questioningly and the Oracle nodded in return. Without hesitation, she took a deep breath, and the strange yellow steam seemed to reach out like a living a thing, its long crawling tendrils creeping slowly and purposefully into her nose and mouth. Miranda wasted no time, hurriedly reaching down and replacing the lid of the pot, sealing what remained of the strange mist inside before any more of it could escape into the air as the last remnants of that which had crawled into Callisto's mouth.

"Is that it?" Callisto asked.

Miranda nodded.

"But I don't feel any different," Callisto said.

"Give it time," Miranda replied. "The effects can take a moment or two to take hold."

Callisto frowned and lay still, Leonidas still holding her firmly by the shoulders. He had to admit, it did not seem like the Pneuma was working. Callisto looked as awake and alert as ever. She had even begun to drum her fingers impatiently against her stomach.

"How much longer should it take?" she asked.

"Just wait," Miranda said, turning away from the slab and returning to the hearth so she could empty what remained of the Pneuma back into the vat.

Callisto lay still for perhaps another minute, her gaze fixed squarely on the ceiling above. Finally she gave an exasperated groan, and tried to rise but Leonidas continued to hold her firmly against the cool surface of the slab. She shot him an irritated glance.

"Would you let me up?" she said in an annoyed tone of voice. "I need another lungful of that stuff. This batch clearly isn't..."

She never managed to finish the sentence. Without warning, a powerful spasm wracked her whole body, cutting her off mid speech. She bucked hard in his grip, her spine arching furiously as her hands shot out to either side, her fingers making desperate clawing motions while her legs began to thrash desperately, the heels of her leather boots scraping against the cold stone. Leonidas did his best to hold onto her, quietly surprised by the level of strength she possessed as his grip turned white knuckle fierce while she thrashed and contorted ever harder beneath him. For a moment her eyes met his in a moment of pure desperate agony, then slowly they began to glaze over, rolling back in her skull until only the whites were visible. Then, as quickly as it had started, the fitting subsided, and she lay still, her chest heaving from the sheer physical exertion of it all. Leonidas had begun to relax his grip slightly when he felt Miranda's hand fall upon his shoulder. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eye to see her shaking her head at him.

Suddenly, Callisto's eyes flew open and she screamed out in pain. It was a terrible, ear piercing shriek that haunted the chamber long after it had faded. Her back arched again, her arms grasping desperately at Leonidas' biceps as her head began to thrash vainly from side to side, tossing her thick blonde hair this way and that. He winced slightly as he felt her finger nails sink into his flesh with such force that they began to draw blood.

"Is this normal!?" he asked desperately, as Miranda crossed to the head of the slab and took Callisto's wildly thrashing head firmly between her hands and held it still. She glanced back at him and nodded.

"Believe it or not, she's doing better than most," she said grimly. "I nearly bit off my own tongue the first time I went through this."

With that, she turned back to Callisto, and leaned in close to the other woman's ear. She began to whisper something softly to her, and as she did so, Callisto seemed to relax, her pained, teeth-gritting grimace changing instead to an expression of utter misery and devastation. Her wild, staring eyes began to drift gently shut, as her muscles, previously as taught and hard as fresh forged steel, finally began to relax again. As her eyes finally slid shut, and she began to slip into unconsciousness, Leonidas was surprised to hear her let out a soft, almost childlike whimper.

"Did she just say 'mama'?" he asked, giving Miranda a curious look as he did so.

The other woman nodded.

"I think so," she said, then motioned to his hands that were both still tightly wrapped around her shoulders.

"You can let her go now," she said. "I don't think she'll be doing any more of her little back breaking theatrics."

Leonidas breathed a sigh of relief and began to straighten, wincing only slightly as Callisto's hands finally released the vice like grip they had had on his arms, her finger nails coming away stained with his blood as she did so.

"Let me take a look at that," Miranda said, turning and making for a small table in a corner of the chamber. On it sat a pitcher and an earthenware bowl with a number of clean white cloths neatly folded beside them. The dark haired Oracle quickly filled the bowl from the pitcher and then crossed back to Leonidas' side, soaking one of the cloths in the bowl as she went. Without another word, she seated herself beside him on the slab and began to daub gently at the deep scratch marks.

"Is that entirely necessary?" Leonidas asked. "I've had much worse on campaign."

"We wouldn't want them to get infected now, would we," Miranda replied, shooting a disgusted look at the unconscious form of Callisto as she did so.

"After all," she continued, "who knows where she's been."

Leonidas did his best to ignore the jibe.

"Is it always like that?" he asked.

"Like what?" Miranda said absently, returning her attention to the scratch marks.

"So painful," Leonidas said. Miranda glanced up at him, her expression completely flat and unreadable.

"Yes," she said simply. "For first timers at least, when you don't know what to expect. After a while you get used to it. It's not so bad then."

"Couldn't you have given her more warning?" Leonidas said, looking back over at Callisto. Her eyes were closed now, but they were darting back and forth beneath the lids, and her brow was furrowed in a faintly pained expression.

"I told her it was dangerous," Miranda protested, "and besides, it's no more than she deserves."

"You really don't like her do you." Leonidas replied, stating the blatantly obvious.

"Whatever gave you that idea!?" Miranda snapped sarcastically back at him. "I love her to bits! If we'd met under better circumstances, I'm sure we'd have even been the best of friends."

Leonidas fixed her with a steady look. Her sarcasm reminded him of Callisto somewhat.

"Maybe you would have at that," he said, and Miranda gave a snort of dry amusement.

"What causes the pain anyway?" he asked, deciding to try and change the subject to something a little less heated.

Miranda shrugged.

"Who knows really," she replied. "The Pneuma's a bit of a mystery to be honest. Like Ambrosia. A gift from the gods. No one knows  how  it does what it does, only that it does it."

"And what exactly  is it  that it does?" Leonidas asked. "And please, none of your usual woolly, mystical nonsense. I've had about as much of it as I can stand for one day."

"I told you already, its a hallucinogen," Miranda replied. "It makes you look inward, see things you don't want to see and in a way you don't want to see them. By confronting them, you gain... perspective I suppose... clarity even. It's only when we have clarity that the gods deign to speak with us."

"So, what do you think she's seeing?" Leonidas asked, his tone one of intrigue as he watched Callisto's rapidly darting eyes.

Miranda stared at him levelly.

"Why do you even care so much?" she asked, raising an eyebrow at him. "Are you carrying a torch for her or something?"

Leonidas started at that and turned his gaze back to her. Cool blue eyes stared back at him, continuing to regard him in that measuring way she had always had, even since they were children together. It was the one that always managed to make him feel two inches tall, even after all these years.

"What..." he coughed, slightly taken aback by her statement, then tried to begin again.

"I... uh... no, nothing like that," he said, still trying to find the right words. "I just find her... I don't know... interesting I suppose. She's so unlike what I expected when you told me she was coming here. I thought she would be some blood thirsty, ravenous warlord that I would have to wrestle to keep control over. Instead I get this woman, with so much anger bubbling inside her, but underneath it all there's so much sadness too, like she's living in a nightmare she doesn't know how to escape from."

Miranda gave a slight nod to herself.

"So that's it," she said.

"What's 'it'?" Leonidas frowned at her.

"She's one of your little projects isn't she?" Miranda said knowingly. "Just like Ithius."

"I hate it when you talk about him that way," Leonidas replied. "Ithius is my friend. Not some experiment my father and I cooked up together."

Miranda cocked an eyebrow at him.

"So, is she a friend then too?"

"No..." Leonidas started to protest, then suddenly had second thoughts about it. "I mean yes... maybe... I don't really know."

Miranda gave a soft sigh.

"She's not worth it, Leonidas," she said, shaking her head she did so. "This is Callisto. We've both heard the stories about her, but I can tell you for a fact that almost all of them are true, and no amount of imagining about her little personal tragedy will magically turn into the hero you want her to be."

"Who said anything about her being a hero?" Leonidas said, and Miranda rolled her eyes.

"Oh please!" she said exasperatedly. "Since when have you ever paid attention to prophecy before? Yet the moment you bring her here, you suddenly seem to think she's the answer to all your problems? How is that not wanting her to be a hero?"

With that, she pulled the cloth away from his arm and stalked back over to the table in the corner of the room.

"Maybe if you'd been a little clearer in your prophesying, I wouldn't have just assumed you were telling me about someone who could save us all from the Persians!" Leonidas shot back, feeling his temper rising.

"How many times do I have to say this!?" Miranda snapped back at him, "Me! Oracle! Messenger! How difficult a concept is that for the pair of you to grasp!? It's hardly my fault you can't even figure out how to read the damned message properly."

Leonidas was about to snap a retort when he noticed her shoulders trembling. She was standing with her back to him, her face hidden from view while her hands gripped the small side table tightly. She sniffed slightly as Leonidas got to his feet.

"Miranda," he began softly now, doing his best to keep his temper under control. "Tell me the truth, what's all this really about?"

"Why are you defending her!?" she rounded on him angrily, and for the first time, Leonidas could see the tears in her eyes that she had clearly been trying to hold back. "She's not some misunderstood, but ultimately noble warrior, Leonidas! She's a jackal! A filthy carrion eater who circles her prey waiting for a moment – any moment – of weakness, so she can slip inside their guard and cause them as much suffering as possible! She does nothing, but bring destruction and death with her wherever she goes! And now she's brought it here! To you and me!"

"You're trying to blame her for the Persian invasion!?" Leonidas said incredulously. "You think I'm riding out to die at Thermopylae because of her? That it's somehow her fault?"

Miranda gave a bitter, sob-wracked, laugh.

"You always think it's all about you don't you?" she said.

Leonidas stared at her blankly for a moment. What was she saying? Of course Callisto was not responsible for the Persian invasion. Come to think of it, Miranda had never once even mentioned her in relation to them, but that meant if she was not linking Callisto to the death she had foretold for him, then she was instead talking about...

The answer hit him with all the force of a one tonne war-hammer.

"Miranda..." he began, not really knowing what to say. "I'm sorry... I didn't realise..."

His apology was too much for her to take. She collapsed back against the wall and slid down it to the floor, her chest heaving with uneven sobs as she hugged her knees tightly to her chest.

Leonidas could only stand in silence, unable to put his thoughts into words. Instead, his gaze dropped to the floor, as he vainly tried to think of how he could make things better.

"When will it happen?" he asked finally, not knowing what else to say.

"Soon," was Miranda's reply. She lifted her head to stare up at him with a desperate tear stained expression on her face.

"You're a soldier Leonidas," she said. "Tell me how do you do it? Tell me how you stare death in the face the way you do? Maybe it will make it that bit easier."

Leonidas could only shrug.

"I don't think there's a secret to it," he replied. "Everyone just has to learn how to deal with death in their own way I think."

"Her way is just to keep coming back," Miranda sneered bitterly as she glanced over toward where Callisto lay. She sat still for a moment, her gaze blazing fiercely, then slowly, the sobs overcame her once more and she broke down into further floods of tears.

Leonidas crossed to her side, sliding down the wall until he was seated next to her, then reached over to wrap an arm around her shoulders. She collapsed against him, her own arms wrapping tightly around his waist in the same way a drowning person clings to driftwood. That sat together like that for long minutes, Miranda's sobbing and sniffing continuing unabated and causing a dull ache to form at the back of Leonidas' throat.

"It's not fair Leonidas!" she managed to get out from between choked sniffs eventually. "I'm not ready! I just keep thinking about my life, and all the things I never did..."

Her red rimmed eyes met his, and the ache in the back of his throat grew even stronger.

"...all the things I missed out on," she finished sadly.

With a deep breath, Leonidas managed to force a smile onto his face.

"Tell me about it," he said. "I still wish I'd managed to pluck up the courage to try that spicy food the merchants brought to the palace that one time. Do you remember it?"

Miranda managed a small chuckle and nodded.

"I do," she said. "How could I forget? Ithius was up half the night in the palace outhouses."

Leonidas gave a laugh of genuine amusement as he remembered the tired, hang dog expression his old friend had worn the morning after.

"He still said it was the best food he had ever tasted though," he smiled. He felt Miranda's grip tighten firmly around him, as if he were a lifeline keeping her from becoming lost upon the sea of her own misery. Instinctively, he tightened his grip around her shoulders as well, and the two of them fell back into silence, Miranda's weeping finally subsiding into the occasional quite sniff.

For a little while, all was peaceful, and Leonidas could feel his eyes growing heavy. It had been a long, eventful day and he could feel the weariness right through to his bones. He leaned back against the wall, his head resting against the cool stone, and closed his eyes.

He was drifting on the very edge of sleep when he heard them; footsteps ringing loudly off the marble floor in the main altar chamber.

Miranda had obviously heard them too. She straightened slightly as Leonidas slipped his arm free of her shoulders and began to stand.

"Who do you think it is?" she asked.

"I don't know," Leonidas replied, straightening the clasp at his shoulder, and checking to make sure his sword was securely fastened to his hip. "At this time of night though, I'm not taking any chances."

He turned to make for the door that led out onto the main temple floor. Miranda was about to follow him when he turned and motioned to her to remain behind.

"Wait here and keep an eye on her," he said. "This shouldn't take long."

Miranda nodded to him.

"Be careful," she said softly.

Leonidas flashed her a confident smile, before turning and stepping out through the door.

The main temple chamber had dimmed considerably since he and Callisto had entered earlier. A number of the torches had guttered and died, leaving only a few still lit and scattered at random intervals around the chamber. Long shadows crept and crawled in what little firelight still remained, and he was forced to stand still for a moment, waiting for his eyes to adjust. When they finally did, he could dimly make out a number of familiar figures advancing across the temple floor. They were all dressed fairly similarly, their long blue cloaks flowing behind them as they moved, and at their head strode a man with a high crested Spartan helm.

"Good evening Demosthenes," he greeted them with forced casualness. Without really thinking about it, he found himself moving to out in front of the altar so that he could intercept them. "And what, if I may ask, brings you here at this late hour."

Demosthenes paused mid-stride, his men coming to a halt behind him. Slowly, the Spartan King reached up to remove his helmet and fixed Leonidas with a hard, steady stare.

"I could very well ask you the same question," he said, glancing searchingly from side to side as he did so. "I think we would both know the answer to that though, wouldn't we."

"If you mean the nightcap I came here for..." Leonidas began cheerily, but Demosthenes cut him off short with a withering look.

"Don't try to play me, Leonidas," he said, his voice turning low and dangerous. "Where's Callisto?"

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Leonidas replied innocently.

"Oh, don't you now?" Demosthenes said, stepping up onto the small dais upon which the altar was situated so that he could stand eye to eye with Leonidas.

"Well that is rather odd. You see, my men here, tell me you released her from my cells not more than three hours ago," he continued, before calling back over his shoulder, "Isn't that right Orestes?"

The guard Leonidas remembered as having surrendered Callisto and Athelis to him at Demosthenes' palace was among those who had accompanied the Spartan King, and now he shifted uncomfortably at the reminder of his failure.

"You should not treat him too harshly," Leonidas said.

"He failed in his duty..." Demosthenes began.

"...and obeyed the orders of a King," Leonidas protested, but Demosthenes only cut him off with a single raised finger.

"...who was not  his  king to give him orders in the first place!" he snapped. "You are overstepping your boundaries again, Leonidas, as you have been doing ever since this whole mess started. We heard that you had been seen coming here with her, and so I repeat, where is Callisto?"

"I don't have her," Leonidas replied, amazed at how quickly and smoothly the lie came to him. "I did release her from your cells. She was my guest in Sparta, as was the mercenary, and by Spartan custom I am at least partially responsible for any crimes they may have committed while staying here. As a result, it seemed only right that I be the one to take responsibility for their imprisonment, and any subsequent punishments, personally."

Demosthenes frowned at him.

"You don't have her?" he said disbelievingly.

Leonidas only nodded.

"But you were seen coming here in her company," Demosthenes protested.

"Unfortunately that is also true," Leonidas nodded again. "Let it not be said that she isn't crafty. She told me she wanted to make an appeal to Ares, for clemency in her sentence for the murder of the ambassador. I was on my way here anyway to speak with the Oracle, and figured it would spare my men a journey if I brought her here myself."

Demosthenes folded his arms squarely across his chest.

"So," he prompted, "where is she then?"

Leonidas shrugged.

"To my eternal shame, I'm not sure," he said. She gave me the slip on the way over here. Quite the little helion too as I'm sure you can see."

He gestured to the scratch marks on his arms and Demosthenes' eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"She got away from you?" he said.

"And is probably halfway out of the city by now," Leonidas replied smoothly. "I don't think she liked the idea of being left to Spartan mercy."

"Then there will be no problem if we search this temple then," Demosthenes said, gesturing to his men to fan out and check the various nooks and alcoves around the edges of the chamber.

Leonidas swallowed and felt his mouth go dry, a sudden cold sweat chilling his spine beneath his armour.

"None at all," he answered, doing his best to keep his voice as congenial as he possibly could.

"This is not his temple to give such permission," a third voice rang out, and Leonidas had to try hard to keep from breathing a sigh of relief. He glanced back over his shoulder to see Miranda emerging from the Pneuma chamber in which Callisto was hidden. As she crossed to meet them at the altar, he could see she was carrying that sword of hers, unlimbered and shining in the dim half-light, while its accompanying hide buckler was strapped to her left forearm. He did not think he had ever been happier to see her in his entire life.

"You know," she continued, stepping gracefully up onto the dais with them, "it pains me to see how little two Spartan Kings trust each other. I remember a time when the two of you would have been the strongest of allies, and when standing side by side, how nothing could defeat you."

She cocked her head, regarding Demosthenes curiously.

"Whatever happened to those times?" she asked.

The blue cloaked king gave her a look that spoke of equal parts misery and disgust.

"We stood side by side," he said flatly, "and we lost."

"One defeat is hardly a reason to give up hope," Miranda replied.

"You mean faith," Demosthenes sneered. "Faith in your God of War to deliver us from the world's horrors."

He crossed to the corner of the altar where the offerings table had been placed. It was filled with the various material offerings people would give in the hope of receiving Ares' blessing. Among the odds and ends and assorted bric-a-brac, someone had donated an intricately worked golden decanter of wine, along with a matching goblet, both studded with a small fortune's worth of precious stones.

Demosthenes grasped the decanter by the handle and picked up the goblet in his other hand. He lifted the wine to his nose and took a long deep inhale, his eyes closed as he allowed the rich scent to permeate the air, and flow through him.

"An Athenian vineyard," he said softly, opening his eyes and pouring the wine into the goblet. "Expensive, even in a poor year for the grapes..."

He lifted the goblet to his lips, mid-sentence, and drank from it, the wine filling his cheeks as he swilled it around the inside of his mouth. Suddenly, he grimaced and spat the contents of his mouth out and across the altar, staining the stone a blood-like crimson.

"...and worth about as much as Ares' loyalty to those follow him," he hissed, wiping the last vestiges of wine from around his lips with the back of his hand. Without warning, he span on the spot, his boot flashing out to catch the offerings table hard, tipping it backward and spilling the various gifts to Ares across the temple floor with a resounding crash.

"Where is your God of War now?" he snapped sharply, rounding on Miranda fiercely as he did so. "Where is his wrath? His punishment for my disrespect?"

He tossed the golden goblet aside, the sound of it clattering down the steps of the dais echoing hollowly throughout the chamber.

"We are Spartans," he announced loudly. "We forge our own destiny, in blood and fire! We do not need the blessings of some turn coat war god or his chosen witch! We only need this..." he slapped his own broad arm roughly, "...and this," he finished, rattling the hilt of his sword.

Miranda, for her part, did not so much as flinch.

"I'm afraid I'm going to have to ask you and your men to leave now," she said, her voice icy cold. "It is late, and I am in no mood to humour those who would show such complete disrespect, both to this place of worship, and to myself."

A dark look of anger began to spread across Demosthenes' face.

"And what if I refuse," he said, his voice equally cold.

Miranda's hand tightened around the hilt of her sword, the leather-wrapped hilt creaking slightly as she did so.

"Then I will stop asking," she said.

Demosthenes regarded her steadily for a moment, then shook his head.

"No," he said. "I am here to find a fugitive from Spartan justice, and I will not leave until I have done so."

"Then you will not be leaving any time soon it would seem," Miranda replied, glancing to Leonidas. "As  King  Leonidas has already said, this person you are looking for is not here."

"I will be the judge of that," Demosthenes repeated, and gestured for his men to search the back rooms. A few of his soldiers peeled off from their efforts around the main temple chamber and began to move toward the various doors that were placed at intervals along the walls. Leonidas felt his stomach turn as he watched two of them start toward the door behind which Callisto now lay, unconscious and defenceless. He was about to speak out, but then Miranda spoke again, clearly already one step ahead of him.

"May I remind you that while this main chamber is open to the Spartan people for public petitioning and worship, the rest of this temple is not," she said evenly. "Those chambers are for temple acolytes and priests only. No one else, not even the Ephors, may enter them without express permission from a member of the temple. To do so would be to completely disregard Spartan law in respect to the divine mandate of Ares."

She stepped closer to Demosthenes, her eyes flashing victoriously.

"Are you prepared to break the laws you claim to defend in trying to uphold them?" she asked.

Demosthenes glared at her furiously.

"You allowed Leonidas inside," he said.

A half smile lit Miranda's face.

"He is my friend," she said simply. "You are not."

Demosthenes paused for a moment, and then, with an exasperated grunt, he gestured to his soldiers to fall back into formation with him. As they clustered around him, he glanced between Leonidas and Miranda with barely disguised disdain.

"This is not done yet, you know," he said darkly, finally fixing his gaze on Leonidas. "There is a reckoning coming, and Callisto will be the first one I hang from the city walls when it does."

With that, he turned and stalked angrily out of the temple, his men trailing in his wake. As the temple doors crashed shut behind them, Miranda visibly sagged, letting out a sigh of relief as she did so.

"I thought he'd never leave!" she muttered. Leonidas placed a comforting hand on her shoulder.

"Thank you," he said softly and Miranda turned to regard him steadily, her eyes still reddened from her earlier tears.

"Just so you know, I did it for you, not for her," she flicked her head toward the chamber at the rear of the temple.

"Also," she added, pointing toward the doors through which Demosthenes had just left, "I really don't like that man."

"You never did," Leonidas smiled, to which Miranda only shrugged.

"Is it my fault if I can't stand stuck up, pompous, assholes?" she replied.

"Not really," Leonidas said, his voice becoming more sincere. "He was right about one thing though."

"And what was that?" Miranda replied.

"We're Spartans," Leonidas replied. "We make our own fates."

Miranda gave a sad, half amused laugh at that.

"I think you've given one too many motivational speeches my king," she smiled. "Your brains are addled."

Leonidas' answering laugh was genuine. This was the Miranda he remembered. Quick witted and utterly unimpressed by his rank. She had always been a steadying influence on him, a way to keep himself grounded. Sometimes, he still found himself wondering what kind of a queen she would have made.

"Maybe so," he said, "but you shouldn't be so quick to place such faith in prophecy either."

"I'm an Oracle, Leonidas," Miranda replied as if she were talking to a particularly dense child. "It's what I do."

"Just listen for a moment will you," Leonidas said, taking her firmly by both shoulders and staring into her eyes, trying hard to lend his voice a level of conviction he did not really feel. "The future is not fixed. How we die is not written in stone. We can change all of this if we only have the  will to do so. Hope is not lost; not yet. We  can  still win."

Miranda stared back at him in silence. After a few moments she gave the barest of nods.

"Okay," she said.

"That's it?" Leonidas replied, his brow furrowing in confusion. "No 'ifs' or 'buts', or 'for the glory of Ares''?"

Miranda smiled at him.

"None," she said.

"Alright then," Leonidas nodded firmly, then glanced toward the exit as he released his grip on her shoulders and straightened.

"I had better go," he said. "It looks suspicious if I remain here, and I need to check on my men to make sure all the preparations for tomorrow's march are going well. Can you..."

Miranda nodded, not even needing to hear the rest of his question.

"I'll watch her," she said. "Make sure she doesn't come to any harm."

"When she wakes up, tell her to head to my palace," Leonidas said. "I would speak with her before I leave, if I am able, and its probably the only safe place in the city for her right now."

"Besides here," Miranda said, and he flashed her a thankful look.

"Right," he nodded, then let out a long breath.

"Time I was leaving then," he said stepping down from the dais.

"Leonidas," Miranda said behind him.

"Yes?" he said, beginning to turn around when he felt her barrel into him, her arms wrapping around his shoulders in fierce hug. For a moment he stood in stunned silence, then, slowly and tentatively, he returned the gesture.

"Good luck," she said softly. "And may Ares watch over you."

"It will all be alright in the end," he said, holding her tightly and again trying his best to sound convincing, even though deep down, he felt anything but. "You'll see."

Slowly he released his grip on her, stepping back out of reach. The distance was no more than a few feet, but it felt as if a huge gulf had suddenly opened between them.

"I'll see you soon," he said, and with that, he turned on his heel and headed out of the temple.

Miranda watched him go in silence, the doors swinging quietly shut behind him to leave her alone on the temple floor among the guttering torch light.

"No," she whispered sadly. "You won't."

*****

The hillside was rich and fertile, covered in thick grass that swayed back and forth in the midday breeze like waves upon an ocean of green.

Callisto did not know what to make of it all.

She was standing in it now, the long blades of the grass reaching almost to her knees, the warmth of the noon sun caressing her neck and shoulders. She wanted to lie down and bask in it, luxuriate in the peace and tranquillity of it all, but a nagging doubt in the back of her mind told her that something about this place was not entirely as it first appeared. This was hardly the torturous nightmare that Miranda had promised her, and yet there was something vaguely familiar about this place, as if she had been here before. That strangeness alone was enough to set her nerves on edge, and she began to turn on the spot so that she might better take in her surroundings.

The crest of the hill was only a few metres away, but just high enough to prevent her seeing what was beyond it. The hill itself slid down into a narrow valley before climbing up the other another hill on the opposite side, its own slopes as rich a green as the one upon which she now stood. In the valley stood a small copse of trees, and at the sight of them, something stirred in the back of her mind, a memory of herself as a child sitting beneath one of the large ones and... and what? The memory was hazy and she could not fully recall why she had been there, or what she had even been doing.

Despite the nagging warnings in the back of her mind, she was struggling to keep her guard up. Everything about this place just felt so right to her, so comforting and warm, as if this were the only place she truly belonged. It was that single thought that sent chills down her spine as a creeping suspicion began spread through her mind. She was beginning to understand where she was.

Somewhere at the edge of hearing a mocking tone of laughter sounded, causing the anger in her gut to churn poisonously. If this was where she thought it was, she did not want to think about what might be coming next.

The laughter grew louder, taunting her from just beyond reach, and a bitter sneer twisted at her lip as she turned and began to stalk angrily up the hillside, until, after less than a minute, she emerged onto its crest. Her heart leapt into her throat as the truth of where she was finally came crashing home.

A small village sat nestled at the base of the hill. It was made up of a ramshackle cluster of town houses belonging to various tradesmen, a single tavern, and a number of shops and stalls all gathered around a muddy clearing that passed for a town square with a large well sunk at its centre. Around the edge of the village stood numerous granaries and barns, all to store the produce from the myriad farms scattered across the country side beyond. The sight of one of the farms, close to the village with a low dry stone wall around its perimeter, brought a lump to her throat and silenced the mocking laughter in her head for a moment.

"I'm home," she whispered quietly to herself, and for the first time since she could remember, the anger that churned ceaselessly in her gut died. She glanced nervously across the horizon, dreading what she might see there, but all was as it should be, calm, peaceful and serene. The longer she stood silently a top the hill with nothing untoward taking place, the more she allowed herself to hope that maybe, this time, everything would turn out better.

Eventually, she could not hold it in anymore and before she knew it, she was running down the hillside.

"I'm home!" she shouted again, happily this time, as her feet pounded against the hillside, carrying her down toward the village, down toward Cirra.

Her happiness was short lived.

Before she was even halfway down the slope, the sky began to darken unnaturally, the sun disappearing as if passing behind a curtain and leaving only blackness in its wake. Despite that though, the light that covered the hill side and Cirra itself was still the light of day.

"No," she muttered under her breath as she ran, "Please, no!"

The laughter returned sharply inside her mind, stronger now than it had ever been before, and Callisto skidded to a stop, clutching her hands tightly across her ears in an attempt to shut it out.

"Stop it!" she hissed angrily, the brief respite from all the pain and hate ending in an instant. "I don't want this, do you hear me!? I DON'T WANT IT!"

She all but screamed the last part, but the laughter did not cease. Instead it continued, cruel, taunting and merciless.

A distant cry went up from somewhere nearby, and Callisto's eyes immediately darted to a neighbouring hill top, her heart sinking as the last vestiges of hope were dashed to pieces by the sight of a small army cresting its peak. They were a rag tag bunch, clad all in mismatched armour and carrying weapons of every size and shape. Some only carried clubs and staffs, while others bore decidedly more lethal weapons, including swords, maces and pikes. Most were on foot, but a large number were mounted, their horses stirring uneasily in anticipation of the coming attack. Toward the rear, Callisto sighted another figure. They were distant and indistinct, but from the way they sat their horse, it was clear the figure was a woman.

"Xena," she hissed darkly, and started down the hill at a run once more, her pace no longer set by her happiness, but by her desperation as she dashed along in a mad scramble to reach the village before the army could charge. She had to stop this! It could not happen again! No! She would not let it happen again, never again!

Suddenly, the laughter echoing inside her head stopped, and instead a voice spoke to her, its cruel mocking tones clearly those of her own.

"Born in blood," the voice chuckled mirthlessly, "Born in fire! So it all began for you, and soon, so it will begin for me!"

Callisto did her best to ignore it as she reached the outskirts of the village and began to sprint madly through the streets.

"Everybody!" she shouted loudly at the villagers milling about uncertainly around her, "Please! You have to run! Xena is coming and she's going to... going to..."

Her voice trailed off in astonishment as a sea of unexpected faces stared back at her. These weren't the villagers she had grown up with. Instead she was surrounded by the faces of others people; people that she knew by name. Atrix, Dahlia, Silas, Tarthus, Ithius, Athelis, Leonidas, Monocles, Miranda... they were all here; a vast crowd of the same faces repeating over and over again as they stared back at her accusingly from the among the walls of the doomed village.

"Leonidas!" she said imploringly to he nearest version of him she could see. "Leonidas please! You have to help me!"

She ran up to him, her arms gripping his tightly in purest desperation.

"Soon, soon, soon, soon," her own voice cooed softly in the back of her mind, but Callisto did her best to ignore it.

"You have to get them away from here!" she pleaded. "It's not safe. If you don't go, now, Xena's army will kill you all!"

"Soon, soon, soon, soon," the voice continued.

Suddenly and without warning, Leonidas reached out and grasped her hard by her arms as she was grasping him. His fingers began to tighten around her, digging harder and harder into her flesh until she winced in pain. He leaned in close, his face mere inches from her own, and when he spoke, his tone was harsh and stabbing, like a dagger aiming straight for her heart.

"It's not Xena we have to fear," he hissed. "It's not Xena who brings death here now."

The mocking cooing voice inside her head broke into a fresh torrent of laughter and Callisto twisted in Leonidas' grasp, suddenly desperate to be away from and his hard, hate filled stare. Try as he might though, she could not get free. He clung to her grimly, his fingers like bands of iron, and instinctively, she reached for her leather vambrace where she had once kept the stiletto dagger Silas had given her. She did not know why she went for it. She remembered giving it back to Dahlia in Penthos, but sure enough, and not at all to her surprise, it slid easily into her grasp and without hesitation, she brought it up smoothly to bury it in Leonidas' throat with furious cry of anger.

The image of Leonidas gave a muted gurgling gasp as the blade parted his skin. The laughter in her head echoed louder as Callisto felt a dim spark of satisfaction at the sensation of his warm blood running over her fingertips and the coppery scent of it teasing her senses.

"Soon," the voice hissed again, more malevolently this time, "very soon."

Callisto pulled the dagger free, and stood silently for a moment, staring at the blood that now stained her hands. Something was wrong. There was not enough. Not nearly enough.

Somewhere in the distance, she heard a blood curdling, ululating war cry. At first she thought it belonged to Xena, but the more she thought about it, the more she realised that it had been different, but still hauntingly familiar. At that sudden realisation, a strange new sensation gripped with icy fingers at her heart. She could feel it deep inside her. Something she had not felt in a long time.

Fear.

With a strangled cry, she span away from the crowd of faces all still staring at her accusingly, and fled up the nearest street, her breath rattling hollowly in her chest. She had not felt this way since the night Cirra had burned, and her mind was racing with the sensation of it. She needed to find somewhere to go, somewhere away from the chaos and that haunting, mocking laughter.

There was only one place she knew where she could feel safe, and without thinking, she angled left down a narrow side street, the memories of where she needed go coming back to her in floods of familiar sights and sounds. Then, suddenly, she burst out from the village and was sprinting across open ground toward the farm she had spied earlier; the one with the dry stone wall.

She vaulted the wall easily, her legs eating the distance quickly as landed and crossed the backyard to the farm house itself. Without hesitation she reached out for the back door, not in the least surprised to find it unlocked as she yanked it open and hurried inside. She slammed it shut behind her, ramming back the heavy iron bolt home that she had always had trouble reaching when she was younger. Cautiously, she turned, her eyes darting furtively across the room she found herself in. It was the kitchen, and for a brief moment, the image of her mother preparing the evening meal flashed across her thoughts.

She shook her head firmly. She did not have time for this. She needed to move and move fast, before the army arrived and burned everyone alive. Quickly, she crossed the room, passing through a curtained stone arch into the main living area beyond.

"Mama, Papa," she breathed heavily as she entered. "Are you in here? We've got to go! I don't have time to explain but..." the words died on her lips as her eyes settled on the scene in front of her.

The living room was not how she remembered it. It had once been cluttered with a dozen different pieces of furniture, all cabinets, cupboards and rickety old chairs scattered haphazardly about the place. Now though, it was empty, the walls bare and and cold. The old moth eaten rug that she remembered playing upon with her one good Sentacles toy when she was young had disappeared too. Instead a thick, opulent crimson carpet stared back at her, and upon it rested two unfamiliar high backed seats, both silhouetted by a blazing fire that roared viciously in the hearth.

The seats were arranged so that one was positioned with its back to her, making her unable to see the individual seated in it. The other was turned with its back to the fire, and its occupant was someone she recognised all too well. He was slouched casually in the seat, his thick dark hair tumbling down to his shoulders while the corners of his neatly trimmed beard were being tugged upward by his sly, knowing grin.

"Ares!" Callisto gasped, doing her best to hide her surprise and failing miserably. For a brief moment, the taunting laughter in her head died as the God of War's smile widened.

"Pleased to see you too Callisto," he said, glancing about the room as he did so.

"You know," he said thoughtfully, as his eyes came to rest on her once more, "if this is the state of your subconscious, it really does explain an awful lot."

Chapter Fifteen: Beginnings to Endings

Callisto stood in complete silence, her jaws clenched tightly together in a quiet fury directed solely at the God of War reclining nonchalantly in one of the two seats before her.

"Well?" he said, his voice filled with that slick self-assuredness it always carried. It was that same self-possession that had so infuriated her in the past. She had only seen him lose it on a couple of occasions and in every instance, it had been either highly amusing or deeply satisfying for her. Sometimes, even both at once.

"Well what?" she snapped at him.

"Aren't you going to say hello to your old friend?" Ares smiled devilishly.

"We're not friends," Callisto retorted.

Ares only shrugged in response.

"I suppose not," he nodded. ""But you  did  take the Pneuma. You came looking for me for aid, and lo and behold, here I am, ready and willing, so maybe, just maybe, a touch more civility is in order, don't you think?"

Callisto gave a sharp mocking laugh. Was he really serious.

"Civility?" she sneered, "from me? Have you forgotten exactly who it is you're talking to?"

"How could I ever forget someone as..." he paused for a moment as if searching for a word then allowed a small, sardonic grin to tug at the corner of his mouth, "...memorable as you?"

Callisto scowled at him suspiciously. She was certain he was up to something, but then it hardly took a stroke of genius to figure that one out. This was Ares she was dealing with. He was always up to something, and clearly this time it involved trying to drive her crazy. Well, for once in her life she was not going to rise to the bait.

"Don't try and play games with me Ares," she said, her voice as low and even as she could keep it. "I'm not in the mood."

"Who said anything about this being a game?" Ares replied, his tone suddenly losing its keen, mocking edge, and instead, becoming deadly earnest. "I can assure you, the situation has never been more serious."

"Then why all of this then?" she demanded.

Ares regarded her quizzically.

"Why all of what?" he said.

Callisto gestured at the living room around them angrily.

"This!" she hissed. "The little nightmare parade! My home, my village, the people I've met, all about to be massacred, and now you and whoever that is in the other chair with you!"

She gestured to the seat next to the one in which Ares was sitting. It was still turned away from her, its occupant obscured from sight.

"Palaces of the mind, Callisto," Ares replied cryptically as he clambered up from the chair and crossed to stand before the nearby hearth, the flames within it crackling gently.

"Or should I say hovel," he added derisively as he slid his finger across the hearth in a faintly disgusted fashion, lifting it to stare at the thick coating of dust that now covered its tip with thinly disguised disdain.

"I mean seriously," he said, turning his head and raising his eyebrows at her, "don't you ever clean in here?"

"Are you offering to be my maid?" Callisto replied snarkily. Ares flashed her a rakish grin.

"What would be the job benefits?" he asked.

"None whatsoever," Callisto replied, and cocked her head slightly when Ares tilted an eyebrow at her.

"What can I say?" she smiled wickedly. "I'm a harsh mistress."

Ares lifted a hand to his beard and rubbed at it thoughtfully, a sly smile pulling up the corners of his mouth as he looked her up and down with a hungry eyed gaze that made her suddenly feel the urge to take a long, cleansing bath.

"I do seem to recall as much," he leered, and Callisto felt her skin crawl. She remembered their time together all too well, and if there were any memories she could expunge, given the choice beyond the obvious memory of Cirra burning, Ares getting to lay his hands on her would be the next one in line.

She frowned though. Something Ares had just said had sounded strangely familiar.

"Palaces of the mind?" she asked suddenly, her eyes narrowing suspiciously. "What did you mean by that?" Where  had  she heard that term before? Charon had spoken to her about it as they made the return journey across the Styx after she had struck her deal with Zeus and Hades. It had been something about the Styx itself not really being a river, but instead the barrier between worlds. It appeared as a river, only because that was what Hades willed it to look like.

"The Pneuma," Ares replied, as if that should answer anything and everything. She just tilted an eyebrow at him, and in return, he let out an exasperated sigh.

"You made this place," he said, sweeping his broad arms in a gesture that encompassed the entire room. "All of it, right down to the stones of the mantelpiece over there. These are your memories, Callisto. Your feelings and emotions; they're the building blocks that it's all created from. The Pneuma provides the mortar holding it all together."

"You mean this place isn't really real?" Callisto said, trying desperately to wrap her head around the strange concept.

Ares nodded.

"In a manner of speaking," he said. "You could say its real to you though, and in the end isn't that all that really matters?"

Callisto gritted her teeth in a barely controlled snarl. The anger and frustration seething inside her was beginning to grow. She did not have time for this! Every moment that passed here was more time wasted back in the real world. Time that she did not have.

Time that Leonidas did not have.

"Would you just give me a straight answer Ares?" she snapped sharply, her temper flaring in vexation. Suddenly, a powerful and uexpected jolt cracked through the stone around them, causing Callisto to lose her balance and stumble slightly. Her hand shot out to brace against a nearby wall so that she could better steady herself, while all about them, great streams of dust fell from the rafters overhead. As she regained her composure, she noticed Ares glancing about warily. His eyes met hers and Callisto felt her heart skip a beat. What was it that could make a God of War look nervous?

She was about to speak again when, emanating from somewhere in the distance, the sounds of screaming began. Xena's army had begun its attack on the village.

Cautiously, she sniffed at the air for smoke, but was relieved when all she could detect were the few wisps of it trailing out from the hearth. The fire had not begun yet, but it would, and soon. She remembered that acrid, burning smell of smoke more clearly and vividly than any other sensation in her life. Even to this day, after so many years of distance from it, the mere scent of smoke still made her heart ache and as the distant sounds of the attack grew ever closer, the hollow core that had been carved out of her by the deaths of her family grew a little larger as she listened to Cirra die for the second time.

Then at the edge of hearing, seemingly coming from everywhere and nowhere at once, that same mocking laughter that haunted her nights and taunted her days began to sound again.

"Soon," it cooed softly and sweetly in her ear, "very soon."

Another powerful jolt ran through the house, the stones grinding loudly against each other, while overhead the ceiling beams creaked ominously, as if some great pressure was being placed upon them.

Callisto felt her blood run cold. Something was wrong here. Terribly, terribly wrong.

"What's going on Ares?" she demanded. "You know more about how all of this works than me."

The war god only shook his head.

"We don't have time to go into the finer points of your twisted psychology," he said. "Your dose of the Pneuma was only small. It's fast acting and you'll be awake again soon. She wants to get to you before that happens."

"Wait a minute," Callisto said, her confusion growing with each passing moment. "You can hear her? The laughing and the taunting? You can hear all of that?"

"Of course I can!" Ares retorted. "We're inside your head remember, and so is she."

"Then who is she?" Callisto snapped. "Why do I keep hearing her laughing at me?"

Ares rolled his eyes in frustration.

"You'd know better than me," Ares said, shooting her an annoyed look. When Callisto just stared back at him blankly he gave a frustrated groan.

"This is your mind," he reminded her, "your psyche, or weren't you listening the first time. Deep down, you already know who she is. You made her after all, and she's nothing and everything to you at the same time. She's the thing you fear the most in all the world, and by extension, the thing you hate more than anything else. She's the source of all your pain and suffering, and deep down here, in the blackest pits of your subconscious, she has all the power. More power even than me..."

"Then why come here?" Callisto said angrily. "Why make me do this if its so dangerous? Why couldn't you just come to me the way you always have in the past?"

"Because I had no other choice!" Ares snapped at her, sounding more than a little resentful. "Zeus has forbidden any of the other gods from getting involved, but me especially because..."

"...Because you're hardly the most dependable of his kids, right?"

Ares shot her a dark look.

"Aw," she cooed childishly, doing her best to hammer home the barbed insult now she had managed to find an opening. "What's the matter, Ares? Did the evil little blonde girl upset the big bad God of War? Was daddy less than happy when he learned you tried to sell him out to Dahak?"

"And whose fault is it that I had to switch sides," Ares demanded, rhetorically.

Callisto had to try hard not let her mouth hang open in stunned disbelief.

"You can't be serious!" she said, placing her hand on her chest as she did so. "You're blaming me!?"

"You and I were both playing the odds with Dahak, and you know it," Ares snapped, pointing an accusatory finger at her. "I wasn't the one who teamed up with Hope, and I certainly didn't help her get as far as she did. I just saw which way the wind was blowing and took advantage of the situation. A situation you helped set up! I had to make the choices I did because of you!"

Callisto clapped her hand to her forehead in disbelief. Was he really saying what she thought she was hearing?

Deep in her gut, she could feel the anger stirring hotter and harder as outside, the distant sounds of Cirra's dying breaths drew inexorably closer. As they did so, the taunting laughter grew stronger, sounding closer now, and Callisto knew, almost by habit considering how many times she had relived this attack in her mind's eye over the years, that it would not be long until the chaos reached the farmhouse. She could feel a dull ache at the back of her throat, and she sniffed quietly. With that chaos would come the fire; the self-same fire that had destroyed everything she had ever held dear.

"You're unbelievable, Ares, you know that?" she sneered angrily, trying desperately to ignore the screams outside and that all too familiar gnawing hollowness in her heart. "You try to switch sides, betray your entire family and breed a weird, faintly creepy army of human-demon-god hybrids in a way that even gives me the chills, then, when your little pet that bites back, Xena, messes up your plan, like she always does I might add, you manage to come to the conclusion that all of that mess is somehow my fault?"

"You're damned right I do!" Ares shouted back at her, his temper finally beginning to fray around the edge, much to Callisto's satisfaction.

"Because of you, I'm practically a pariah on Olympus now! The others don't want to talk to me, and Zeus has shut me out of any of his plans for how to deal with Cronus should your little redemption mission here fail. The Pneuma was the only option I had left! Zeus doesn't police our connections to our Oracles, so this was the only way I could speak with you. He seems to think that you can handle all of this Cronus business on your own..."

Callisto snapped her fingers together at that.

"Ah ha!" she announced triumphantly, much to Ares' apparent surprise. "I knew it! I  knew  Zeus and Hades brought me back to deal with Cronus and..." her voice trailed off as she began to truly process what it was he had just said.

"Hey!" she said, suddenly offended and indignant in equal measure. "You don't think I can cut it do you?"

Ares gave a dry snort of amusement.

"Of course I don't," he said. "Not without a little help anyway. Zeus is putting on his best king's face for the others, but he's not fooling me. I know when he's afraid, and I've never seen him more terrified in my entire life than he is right now. Cronus is more dangerous than he's letting on, and I'm not even sure how many of the others he's even told about it."

Callisto frowned at him.

"If Cronus is really such a threat;" she began, "if he's big and scary enough to make the King of the Gods go weak at the knees, then what chance in Tartarus am I supposed to stand against him?"

Ares shot her a look of complete and total disdain.

"You have got to be joking," he sneered. "You really think my father would send  you  against the former lord of the Titans? That would be like throwing a pebble to try and stop a tidal wave. It's not Cronus you're supposed to stop. It's his lackeys."

"The Followers..." Callisto breathed, and Ares gave a relieved nod.

"Finally, she gets it," he said, tossing his head back as if in silent thanks to the rafters over head. "Think about it Callisto. Of course we don't want Cronus freed, and Zeus wants to put a stop to it before it can ever even happen. Mortal belief is what fuels us, makes us strong. If Cronus were to be unleashed, it would be a sign of weakness on our part, a pure display of ineffectiveness as dangerous to us as Cronus himself, and believe me when I say, Cronus is dangerous enough all on his own. If you mortals can defeat him, without Zeus' aid, its a win win for the gods. We don't have to risk ourselves in a second Titanomachy, and some temple priest somewhere will doubtless end up giving at least one of us the credit for the whole thing anyway."

"That's what I love about the gods," Callisto jeered. "You all have so much class."

Ares only shrugged as if to say 'what did you expect?'

"But I don't even know what it is they're up to," she protested. "How can I foil their plans if I don't even know what it is they're planning?"

"That's where I come in," Ares replied smartly. "You have all the pieces you need. You just require a little help putting them all in place."

He moved closer to her, his eyes focused intently on hers.

"Think, Callisto," he said, his gaze steady and unflinching. "Why did you attack my Oracle?"

"Because she had the Pneuma..." she said, and Ares nodded making circular gestures with his hand to encourage her to continue.

"Go on," he urged.

"...and so do the Followers," she said, starting to put the pieces together. She turned a questioning glance on him. "But why do they even want it?"

"Practical considerations, I suppose," Ares said. "The Pneuma has been used as a test of character or a rite of passage for centuries. You know the sort I'm sure; confront your passions, your hates, your fears, and should you not be lost to it, you might just emerge with a greater wisdom and clarity at the other side. It's how the more puritanical members of my family decide which mortals are even worthy of being spoken to. Apollo in particular loves the stuff."

"And it can make a pretty useful indoctrination tool as well," Callisto said, as fresh thoughts began to scratch at the back of her mind and she remembered Marsus and the other Followers, unconscious and under its effects. The answers she was looking for were close. She could almost taste them.

"Keep going," Ares said, beginning to move around her in slowly decreasing circles as she ran everything she had learned over the past couple of days through her mind. What had Miranda said about the Pneuma? She remembered that the temple priests of Ares had tried to seal off all the springs of it that ran throughout the Spartan region, presumably so that they would have sole access to it. Were there other springs of it then? Ones that the temple did not know of? Or maybe even ones they did?

"They have to be getting a supply of it from somewhere..." she muttered to herself, but Ares nodded encouragingly as he circled behind her.

"Getting closer," he said, his fingers sliding sensually up to her shoulders, but Callisto ignored them, too deeply lost in thought as she was. Instead, she drummed her fingers thoughtfully against her hips, becoming so enraptured by the puzzle that Ares and the room around her may as well never have existed.

What had the Followers been doing in the city? They had killed Hutâna, she had figured out that much, and all to ensure that the war between the Persians and the Spartans would take place. They needed death, and war on such a scale would doubtless bring it to them. It was all part of some grand scheme; some massive picture that no matter how far back she tried to step from it, she could not make the entirety of it out. The Pneuma had to be a part of the puzzle too, the missing piece that, when placed correctly, would complete the whole picture for her.

"...but where?" She bit her lower lip, wracking her brains to try and unravel it all.

Then it hit her.

"Underground!" she said suddenly, the answer leaping upon her in a moment of purest revelation. "The Pneuma comes from underground springs. It's the tomb of Lycurgus! It has to be! There must be a Pneuma spring there! They know where it is!"

Ares stepped in close, the short bristling hair of his beard scratching gently against her cheek.

"Bingo," he whispered softly in her ear.

Callisto whirled to face him, her heart suddenly racing.

"The tomb can undo it all!" she said, almost sounding excited. "That's why they were trying to kill Monocles! They didn't want Leonidas to find it! If Monocles can discover its location, we can stop the war before it can ever start, and Leonidas doesn't have to die!"

Ares stepped back from her, folding his arms as he did so, a look of disappointment on his face.

"Aaaaand just like that, you're way off base again," he said, shaking his head as he did so.

Callisto's brow knitted together, her spirits suddenly sinking again.

"What are you talking about?" she snapped. "Stop the war with the Persians, stop all that death, stop the barrier collapsing, and the Followers plans are undone. Leonidas and Sparta will be saved! All of Greece will be saved from Cronus and I'll have my ticket to Elysium. Everyone's a winner!"

Ares smiled smugly at her.

"When you put it that bluntly, yes, however, you're missing a crucial detail I'm afraid."

Callisto's frown darkened.

"But you said I knew everything I needed to," she said.

"It would appear I was mistaken."

Callisto rolled her eyes.

"Do I have to ask what that detail is?" She said with weary resignation.

Ares shook his head again.

"You could try," he said, "but unfortunately, I wouldn't tell you what it is either way. If you don't know by now, then Zeus will almost certainly figure out what has happened if I tell you, and then, well, let's just say my father doesn't take kindly to being directly disobeyed."

Callisto's anger flared, blazing hot inside her, and the room trembled around them, tiny fissures spreading throughout the thick stone walls like a huge network of spider webs. Ares glanced at them warily out of the corner of his eye.

"Am I going to have to  make  you tell me?" Callisto hissed.

The God of War chuckled derisively.

"Please Callisto," he sneered. "You're embarrassing yourself. When you were a god, you might have stood half a chance, but now..."

He cocked his head slightly, his gaze almost pitying.

"...Well, now you're pretty much nothing. What was it you called me once? Washed up and wrung out? I believe that's an apt description for your current state."

Callisto's teeth gritted together, her jaw muscles bunching like bands of iron.

"Zeus might disagree," she snapped savagely. "At least he seems to recognise my talents. He's entrusted this mission to me after all."

Ares' laugh was loud and rich and not at all what she had expected. It echoed off the room's stone walls, vicious and cutting, knifing through her and right down to the bone with a keenness she had not thought Ares possessed.

"Exactly the opposite actually," the war god managed from between wracking bouts of laughter. "He didn't choose you because you're special, Callisto."

"Why did he choose me then!?" Callisto snapped savagely, although she was pretty sure she already knew the answer.

As his laughter finally subsided, Ares straightened, his whole demeanour changing before her eyes from one of complete amusement to one of sneering imperiousness. His eyes flashed, cold and hard as ancient steel, as he regarded her.

"He chose you because you're expendable," he said.

Callisto felt her stomach lurch sickeningly as the burning anger inside her flared hard and strong, scorching and consuming all other emotions as the taunting laughter sounded louder and closer than ever before. Of course that was the reason she had been chosen. She had been a fool if she had ever believed otherwise. Why else would they choose her to be their champion when they already had the likes of Hercules and Xena to do their dirty work for them?

Slowly, somewhere deep in the earth beneath their feet, a low base rumble sounded, growing in severity and intensity, until it shook the living room in which they stood. The already cracked stone began to splinter loudly as fresh fissures ran hither and thither across their surfaces, and again, she could not help but notice Ares glance at them warily.

"It will be a tremendous battle you know," he said conversationally, pretending as if he had not noticed the room shaking all about him. "Thermopylae I mean. It will live on in the annals of history. Leonidas' death will be a glorious one! One that any Spartan would be proud to achieve. It will be his moment, Callisto, the one shining point in his life that will turn him into the legend he so richly deserves to be."

"You could help him!" Callisto hissed, reaching out and clinging to the anger insider her now. It was the one constant she could hold onto. The one thing that she knew for a fact would never fail her, never betray her.

It would always be there.

Waiting.

"First Miranda, and now you!" she continued harshly. "Is he just destined to be abandoned by everyone!?"

Ares fixed her with an even stare.

"I have other concerns," he said darkly. "Stopping the war outright won't stop Cronus, Callisto. It might even hasten his return."

Callisto shook her head at him.

"I couldn't give a crap about Cronus!" she shouted furiously, "Or any of the rest of you for that matter! You can all twist in the wind for all I care!"

The laughter was everywhere now, seeming to echo in from all sides as Callisto felt her anger mounting. She could not let this happen. She could not let someone else die when there was a chance she could stop it. Leonidas was not going to be like her family, or like Silas and Atrix, all of them dead now and all because she had not been able to do what needed to be done.

"He's a Spartan King!" she snapped. "He's even a descendant of Lycurgus! He's supposed to be a favoured son to you; They all are! And now you're just going to turn your back on them?"

Ares shrugged, but said nothing.

"You can't!" Callisto protested the anger churning blackly beneath her skin, and roaring in the pit of her stomach like a blazing inferno. "You're the God of War for Tartarus' sake! You can't just abandon him!"

"Watch me," Ares replied, turning with a wave of his hand so that he could head for the living room door, which, Callisto remembered, led back outside into the farmhouse's front yard.

Something about the manner in which he dismissed her, the casual disregard he showed when he turned his back, stoked the fire in her belly hotter still, until the fury burned so dark and fierce, the only thing she could think about was taking his face and pounding on it with her bare hands until there was nothing left but bloody mulch.

She flexed her fingers, their tips hooking into claws and then, with a furious scream, she dove at him, landing squarely across his broad back. Ares grunted in mild surprise as she swung her legs up to wrap tightly around his waist, while one of her arms snaked around his neck at the same time that she braced the other against the back of his skull in a vice like choke hold. The big man stumbled forward slightly, arms swinging out wide to either side of him for better balance as Callisto clung on grimly.

"Not good enough Ares!" she hissed darkly in his ear. "You're going to help me! You're going to help Leonidas, and if you don't... well, lets just say you won't be the first god I've killed." she twisted savagely for emphasis, and Ares gave a sharp intake of breath as her arm closed off his windpipe.

"Aren't you... forgetting... something?" he managed to choke out from beneath the arm squeezing his throat.

"And what would that be deary?" Callisto asked, her tone all mock sweetness.

"You're just... a mortal... now..." Ares gasped. "And me... Well... I'm not!"

She felt his hand close tightly around her forearm, his fingers stronger and surer than steel. He pried her grip loose as if she was nothing more than a child. At the same time, his other hand reached back, gripping her tightly by her leathers. Suddenly he lurched forward, bending at the waist and using the momentum to twist her off his back and hurl her bodily across the farmhouse living room.

Callisto howled in pain as she hit the living room door, upside down, spine first, and with such tremendous force that the wood splintered, then burst outward with an explosive crack. She sailed out into the farmhouse's front yard, landing hard on her side in the dry dirt, and rolling with the impact. Finally the world seemed to stop spinning in circles around her as she came to a stop, and managed, groggily, to clamber back to her feet again.

The scent of smoke was thick in the air around her, its acrid stink hitting the back of her throat and making her cough bitterly. She lifted a hand to her mouth to block out the smoke and glanced back over her shoulder, already knowing exactly what it was she would see.

It did not make actually seeing it any easier.

At her back, Cirra was burning, silhouetted figures moving back and forth among the buildings, some fleeing for their lives, others stalking like predators as Xena's army set about wiping the village from the face of the earth. A strong wind tugged at her hair and Callisto began to turn. Maybe this time it would be different. She was here now after all, older and stronger. Maybe this time she could change things.

She was about to start down into the village when she felt a strong hand on her shoulder. She looked back to see Ares standing behind her. He cocked his head slightly.

"I wouldn't go down there if I were you," he said. "She's still waiting for you, and I think she's getting impatient."

With a vicious snarl, Callisto span on her heel, her hand lashing out in a powerful flat palm strike that caught Ares squarely across the jaw.

The God of War barely even flinched.

Callisto's snarl turned into a furious scream, and she redoubled her efforts, throwing a series of rapid strikes aiming for all of Ares' vital organs. She was not even certain gods had vital organs, but it seemed worth a shot. Kidneys or no, she was certain a straight fingered jab to their approximate location would still hurt.

That was if she could even get the hit to land.

Ares danced back away from her, moving with a quick footed grace that was surprising considering his impressive size. No matter how hard she tried, nothing would connect. Not a kick nor a strike so much as touched him.

"I was only trying to give you some advice, Callisto," he said, ducking beneath a particularly vicious elbow strike. "You're in more danger here than you realise..."

Callisto ignored him, using his moments distraction to faint left, then right, then left again, and as Ares moved to intercept the hit from the left, she pulled it short and swung in hard again from the right. This time the hit connected, but not the way she had expected or wanted it to.

Ares' arm moved with a quickness she had not thought possible, whipping up to catch her strike with the same speed and surety of a biting cobra. There was a loud slap of knuckles against flesh as he caught her fist in the palm of his hand, his fingers closing around it with an unrelenting grip before she could yank it back.

"...but If this is really the way you want it, then who am I to argue," he finished with a resigned sigh. He gave a cruel twist with his wrist, forcing Callisto's arm to contort at a terrible angle. Her pained scream was barely out her mouth, when Ares' follow up backhand took her hard across the face, sending her sailing sideways to slam against a nearby tree with such force, Callisto was almost certain all the ribs down her left hand side had broken.

Leaning against the tree's thick trunk, she managed to keep herself upright, but her head was pounding, and her back and side throbbed painfully.

"Why are you stopping me!?" she demanded, rounding on Ares as best she could manage as he strode purposefully across the yard toward her, cracking his neck as he went. "I'm just trying to do what's right aren't I!? What Zeus wants me to do! What Xena  would  do! Isn't that just what everyone wants!? For me to be just like her!? Just another little do gooder champion, wandering the world and righting wrongs here, there and everywhere!? Why won't you just let me be like that!?"

Ares shook his head at her, and for a moment Callisto thought he looked genuinely remorseful. Then he looked up, his eyes meeting hers as cold and hard as ever.

"The world doesn't need another Xena, Callisto," he sneered, pulling his fist back for a strike that would finish the fight once and for all, "and it certainly doesn't need you."

As he spoke, Callisto felt something snap inside her and suddenly, the fire was upon them. Ares froze mid blow as the fire raced impossibly over the open ground, carried by the winds that fed its ravenous appetite until it was all around them, blazing hot and fierce, its flames hungry and tall.

Ares glanced about himself warily, then suddenly, his eyes widened. Callisto followed his gaze and felt her breath catch in her throat. Someone was walking inside the maelstrom of heat and fire, a figure little more than a black shadow among the flames, but with each moment that passed, it grew closer, and more distinct. The laughter pounded in her head now, louder than she could ever remember; so loud even that it threatened to split her skull like an overripe melon.

"Soon my sweet!" it crowed triumphantly. "Soon!"

Ares turned and looked at her, his eyes narrowed and calculating.

"But not yet," he said.

He lifted his hand and snapped his fingers...

*****

...and Callisto awoke, her eyes flying open as she let out a pained gasp, reaching up to clutch at her side, her breath coming in laboured inhalations, as if she were a fish scooped from a lake and left to suffocate on dry land. Every muscle in her body was knotted and tense, her spine aching and stretched taught above the chill stone she had been lying on.

"Steady," came a soft female voice. "Steady Callisto. It's over now. Can you hear me? It's all over now."

She felt a damp cooling cloth press down across her forehead, and a surprisingly gentle hand find her own. She gripped it tight, her eyes spinning wildly as she tried to recall just what exactly was happening and where she was.

A woman's face came into view, and Callisto almost cried out. The woman looked like Xena! Without thinking, her fist flew straight and true, catching the woman hard under the chin and staggering her backward. Callisto was already struggling to sit upright. Her back screamed in protest, but obeyed nevertheless, and she managed to swing her legs from the slab and out over the floor, her eyes whipping desperately from left to right as she did so.

Nearby a fire was burning in a hearth with a heavy looking vat bubbling steadily away above it. For a brief moment, the image of Ares and that strange third individual seated with their back to her flashed unbidden across her thoughts, only to be replaced by a sudden rush of recollection.

She let out a long low breath of relief. She had been under the influence of the Pneuma. None of what she had just seen had really happened. Cirra had not burned a second time, she had not stabbed Leonidas, and Ares had not just beaten the stuffing out of her. Had it even been Ares? The more she thought about it, the less certain she became.

She looked slowly around the room again, taking in more detail this time as she tested her ribs with gently probing fingers. After a moment or two, she let out another relieved sigh. Nothing was broken. All around her, the room was lit by flickering firelight. She was sitting on a stone slab, and beyond the slab itself, and a small table with a pitcher of water, a small ceramic bowl and a set of clean white cloths upon it sitting in the corner, the room seemed to be fairly empty.

Callisto's eyes widened. She knew this place! She was in the temple of Ares, in Sparta no less. This was the Pneuma chamber and the woman, the one she had just punched, was...

She turned to see Miranda, already recovering from her unexpected assault and glaring daggers at her.

Callisto gave a sheepish shrug of her shoulders, and then winced as she felt sharp, stabbing pains course through her neck and into the base of her already throbbing skull.

"You know," she said, "you could have given me a little more of a heads up as to what that stuff was going to do to me."

"How was I supposed to know!" The other woman snapped. "Everyone sees something different."

She rubbed tenderly at her chin and gave a dry laugh.

"Still," she said ruefully, "I suppose I had that one coming."

She stooped to pick up the damp cloth from where it had fallen and crossed to the pitcher on the table. Dumping the cloth unceremoniously on its wooden surface, she began to fill the ceramic bowl before carrying it back to Callisto.

"Here," she said, handing the bowl over to her. "You should drink this. The Pneuma tends to dehydrate people. You'll probably have a headache for a couple of hours and feel thirsty double that."

Callisto nodded and took the bowl from her, tilting her head back and gulping down its cool, clear contents in a single swallow. The chill feeling of the water sliding down her throat felt wonderful, a calming balm upon her frayed nerves.

"You know," she said, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand and holding out the bowl for Miranda as memories of Ares and what he had said to her began to fill her thoughts, "that god of yours is a real ass."

Miranda rolled her eyes and reached out to take the bowl from her, crossing back to the table to refill it after having done so.

"Care to tell me what it is you saw?" she asked, ignoring Callisto's sleight against Ares, and instead forcing a conversational tone into her voice. "I imagine someone with your history must have quite a few terrible things lurking under the surface."

Callisto frowned as she tried to remember. Like her dreams, so much of what had just happened now seemed hazy, as if it had not even truly been her living it. Instead, much of it felt half imagined, like the way she had pictured stories told to her by her father when she was a child.

"I saw..." she began, but trailed off when memories of taunting laughter and scorching fire against a black and starless night sky filled her mind.

"...I'm not sure what I saw," she continued. "I just remember fire, and..."

Her frown deepened as memories of a figure silhouetted against those terrible and hungry flames flitted briefly across her thoughts, and a small shudder ran up her spine.

"...shadow." she managed finally.

"Did it work though?" Miranda asked. "Did you get the answers you were looking for?"

Callisto nodded. Of all the half remembered scraps she could piece together inside her head, the one thing that was still as clear as day was what she had learned. The Followers knew the location of the Tomb of Lycurgus. If she could just find it...

Letting out a tired groan, she stretched to an accompanying series of loud pops from her spine as she did so.

"I have to get going," she said glancing about, with a questioning expression on her face.

"Where's Leonidas?" she asked. "I need to talk to him."

Miranda shook her head.

"He's not here," she said, and Callisto turned on her rapidly.

"What do you mean?" she said worriedly. "What happened to him? Where did he..."

Miranda held up a hand, cutting her off mid-sentence.

"Relax would you," she said. "Demosthenes came here hunting for you. To throw him off the scent, Leonidas had to head back to his Palace. You should try to rest a little longer. The Pneuma takes a lot out of people. I've known temple initiates take days to recover after only experiencing doses half the strength of the one you took. Leonidas said to send you on after him only when you were able."

"I'm able now," Callisto grunted, sliding as nimbly as she could from the slab, which, truth be told was not that nimbly at all. Her legs felt weak, and she could feel small spasms in her lower back as they struggled to take her weight.

Miranda watched with a dry look of 'I told you so' painted across her features.

"Of course you are," she sneered sarcastically. "Very able indeed."

Callisto rounded on the other woman angrily to bite off a retort, but was silenced by the room lurching dizzyingly around her. She reached out with a steadying hand, propping herself up against the slab, while Miranda simply folded her arms and regarded her steadily.

"You care about Leonidas, don't you?" Callisto swallowed, tasting weak traces of bile in the back of her throat, but doing her best to ignore the other woman's jibe.

"I do," Miranda replied.

"Well, come sunrise he and his men are going to be riding out of the city, and straight to their deaths," Callisto snapped, pointing directly at her. "Your prediction, remember? Doesn't that bother you at all?"

Miranda only stared back at her coldly

"Of course it does," she said finally.

"Well I can stop it!" Callisto replied. "My little Pneuma trip helped me figure out how, so, unless you're particularly eager to watch the man you still have feelings for set out on a suicide mission, you'll let me leave, and leave right now."

Miranda continued to regard her steadily for a moment longer, before finally giving a small nod.

"Alright," she said, picking up her short sword and buckle as she walked past Callisto and opened the door that led out onto the main temple floor. "I had some of the initiates prepare your horse. It's saddled and waiting outside. I suggest you keep away from the main streets. Demosthenes is not a fool. He knew you were here, and his men probably haven't gone far. You should be cautious."

Callisto walked out past the other woman, doing her best to hold her back straight and keep her chin high as she went, in spite of her trembling knees.

"Cautious?" she said, "Me? Now where would be the fun in that?"

"I'm serious, Callisto," Miranda replied, following her out into the dimly lit altar chamber and over toward the temple doors. "I may be an Oracle, but Ares doesn't show me all of the future. Just the bits he thinks, in his divine wisdom, that I need to know."

Callisto gave a dry, sneering laugh.

"I would hardly call Ares wise," she said. "backstabbing and two faced, yes, but never wise."

"Sounds like someone not a million miles away from me now," Miranda said pointedly.

Callisto flashed her a look of complete, unbridled innocence.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she said, adopting a tone of mock incomprehension.

The doors to the temple creaked open, and Callisto walked slowly out into the chill night air. In the sky above, the stars were already dimming and a pale light was beginning to stain the distant horizon. Dawn was approaching but was still probably an hour a way. The fresh air hit her the same way someone dumping her in a horse's water trough would have done so. The musty cobwebs that had been clouding her mind since awakening were blown away almost immediately, and she began to feel life slowly creeping back into her deadened senses.

Her horse was standing nearby, saddled and tethered to a short hitching post, just as Miranda had promised.

"Well then," she said, straightening with a fresh sense of invigoration, "It's time I was getting back to saving your King's royal behind."

She turned and grinned at Miranda.

"I'd say it's been a pleasure," she said, "but we both know it would be an utter lie."

She was turning to leave when she felt the other woman's hand on her shoulder and she turned back to see Miranda watching her levelly.

"Just do me one favour would you," the Oracle said, and Callisto glanced at the hand that still gripped her shoulder.

"Do you want to try taking your hand off me first?" She said.

"Please," Miranda continued, releasing her grasp on Callisto's shoulder. "As repayment for my help with the Pneuma."

A very faint note of pleading had entered into her tone. So faint was it, that Callisto might not have even noticed it at all, had she not already become accustomed to the sounds of pleading and begging during her years of raiding.

"Go on then," she said, giving the other woman a questioning look.

"Just promise me you'll listen to him," Miranda said.

"Listen to him?" Callisto said, not even trying to hide her confusion. "About what?"

"It doesn't matter what about! Just listen to him!" the other woman snapped impatiently.

"After everything you've done in your life, I think its the least you can do..." she continued sharply, before adding, in a softer tone of voice that Callisto had to strain to make out "...for the both of us."

Callisto frowned at the other woman, but only nodded.

"Doesn't sound like too much of a challenge," she said, turning and clambering gracefully up into the saddle of her horse. The animal stirred slightly beneath her, but Callisto did not attempt to soothe it.

Miranda laughed dryly at her.

"For you," she sneered, "I'd say it's the hardest thing you'll ever have to do."

Callisto shot the other woman an irritated glanced as she turned her horse out and away from the temple, its hooves ringing hollowly off the paved stone streets in the silence of the night.

"You know something Miranda?" she said with a sly grin. "I think that deep down, under all that bitterness and disdain, secretly, you kind of like me."

Miranda stared back at her wearily.

"Just go," she said, and Callisto's smile widened as she urged her horse to gentle trot, leaving the dark marble of the temple in her wake.

"You shouldn't worry," she grinned back over her shoulder, "I know exactly what I'm doing! What could go wrong?"

Her face straightened suddenly.

"Actually," she called back one last time, "best you don't answer that!"

Then her horse rounded a corner in the street, and Miranda and the temple were lost to the night behind her.

*****

Miranda stood in silence for a long time after Callisto had vanished from view, trying hard to keep her breathing steady. The cold night air bit cruelly at her and she felt a shiver run down her spine. How much longer could she just stand here like this? An hour? Maybe two? Would it even make any difference?

She gave a thick, painful swallow, her throat suddenly very dry as she turned on her heel to face the temple. It was a place that had been as much of a home to her as the noble house she had grown up in, if not maybe even more so. She had so many fond memories from her time here. She remembered the former Oracle having imposed a fast on her and the other initiates, and how she had spearheaded the efforts of a couple of girls of a similar age to sneak out of the temple after dark in search of the food so casually denied them during their waking hours. They had been found out of course, unsurprisingly, and her the Oracle had been less than pleased. She had been made to polish each of the hundred or so various bronze statues dedicated to Ares' glory until the Oracle could see her own reflection in them. Then she had been made to polish them one more time for good measure.

Now though, the temple no long felt like home. Instead it loomed, cruel and stark, a taunting reminder of what was to come, the doors gaping wide before her like a hungry gaping maw, about to swallow her whole.

She could just walk way right now; just turn and walk off up the street, leaving the temple behind her the same way Callisto had done, and never looking back. She envied Callisto in a way. Despite everything the other woman had done, despite all the atrocious acts of petty, small minded sadism and barbarism that she had inflicted, she still managed to maintain an aura of... what exactly... righteousness perhaps? Defiance?

Whatever that strange, ineffable quality was, it gave her the ability to stand tall and unbowed, no matter how hard the world seemed to be trying to bend or break her.

Well, if Callisto could do it, so could she. She was not just some mousey farm girl whose village had been burned to the ground, after all. She was of the Spartan nobility and a chosen Oracle of Ares. She would not let fear seize her so completely as to make her flee.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened and squared her shoulders before stalking up the temple steps and back indoors, out of the cool night breeze.

Inside the main altar chamber, all was as she had left it. The few torches still lit were burning low now, there shadows creeping and crawling sinuously over the stonework. With another deep breath, Miranda hefted her sword and crossed to the nearest torch. Reaching out with a hand that she had to try hard to keep from shaking, she dropped a large, bell-shaped copper cover over the flames, extinguishing them in an instant.

She glanced around herself nervously as the temple grew darker, and the shadows stretched out further, already beginning to consume what little remained of the light.

Slowly, with leaden steps she had to will herself to take each time, Miranda crossed to the next lit torch and extinguished it the same as the last. Again, all was deathly silent as the shadows stretched still further across the chamber. Swallowing nervously she moved from one torch to the next, each time extinguishing it the way she had done the rest, and with each torch the light faded, and with it, a small piece of that defiance she had felt outside died too.

As the final torch was extinguished, she glanced around the now almost completely black chamber, save for the silver light from the stars and rising dawn outside shining in through a number of small windows mounted high over head.

She stood in silence for a long time, almost feeling like she was holding fate at bay through sheer force of will alone.

Then she saw it.

At the corner of her eye, a shadow flickered strangely, crawling over the stone and pawing at the silver light in a way that could not be considered in any way, shape, or form, natural. At least not in the land of the living.

At the sight of the shadow, all the tension and fear seemed to drain out of her as a sudden and profound revelation settled upon her. The time had come. The time all Spartans, men and women both, trained for their entire lives. It did not matter that she was going to die. All that mattered was how she would face it.

Hefting her sword and buckler, she moved to stand before the altar, holding the blade of her weapon out in front of her so that it shone dully in the soft starlight from outside.

"I know you're here," she said aloud to the shadows all about her. "I know that you've come for me."

"Not just you," rasped a dry, emotionless voice that seemed to echo in as her from all sides at once. "Where's Callisto?"

"You're too late I'm afraid," Miranda replied, hoping to Ares that her voice had sounded firm and hard. "She doesn't die here today."

The rasping voice chuckled softly, and it was a sound that made the blood in her veins turn to ice. Like before, the laughter seemed to come from all around her at first, then slowly, as it continued, it changed, narrowing further and further down until it seemed to be coming from a pooling of shadows directly in front of her.

Suddenly the shadows peeled back, like skin sloughing off burned meat, to reveal a tall figure standing before her, clad all in black robes and carrying a long staff with a single silver sickle blade at its end.

"And who told you that?" the figure hissed, cocking his head slightly as he did so.

"My Lord Ares grants me a window through which I may see into the future," Miranda replied. "Or the past. He has shown me much these past few days, about your master, and about you."

Slowly she stepped down from the dais, walking steadily up to the dark robed man. She was surprised that he did not move. Instead, he simply stood, waiting for her to approach him.

"It's so sad," she said, as she stopped within easy reach of him. "What happened to you, what has become  of  you."

Gently she reached out, taking the coarse material of the hood between her fingers. The stranger did not move. Slowly, almost tenderly, she pulled back the hood until the strange figure's face was exposed. It was a gaunt, palid thing that stared back at her, expressionless and unflinching. He had the look of a man half starved, with hollow cheeks, and sunken eyes. It was those same eyes that almost made her turn and run, the irises and pupils so dark and wide that his eyes may as well have been completely black.

"You were great once," she managed, placing a hand sorrowfully on his cheek. "So full of passion and life. And then came their betrayal. Now all you are is hollow, empty, a shadow, a shell."

The man's head cocked slightly to one side, as if he were listening intently to something.

"Ares has shown you much," he said eventually.

"My Lord blesses me with foresight," she replied serenely.

"Really?" the dark figure said with a tight nod. "Then he must have told you how much this will hurt."

Before Miranda could pull back, his staff arced around behind her, the blade flashing viciously in the soft silver light before burying itself between her shoulders.

Her eyes widened in surprise as the wind was driven out of her by the blow. So stunned was she, that for a moment she did not even fall, instead simply wavering there, breathless and in agony. Then she stumbled slightly, sinking to her knees as the truth her mind had already grasped of what had just happened, began to finally register with her nerves.

"You've..." she gasped painfully, blood flecking her lips as she tried to speak. "...you've killed me."

Somewhere deep in the earth beneath her, she felt the ground begin to shake, tremors hitting the temple like waves crashing relentlessly against the shore. Nearby a number of torches swayed violently, and then crashed to the ground with a loud clang of copper on marble.

The shadowy figure took to a knee beside her, long fingers closing tightly around her chin and lifting her face so that she could look him in the eye one final time.

"You were not the first," he hissed at her, "and so that my Lords freedom is achieved, neither will you be the last."

Miranda stared up at him, blinking as the colour began to leech away from the world around her and the intensity of the tremors began to increase. Then she saw him, a third figure watching her from among the pillars. Like the stranger, he was tall, but there the similarity ended. He had thick dark hair that hung down to his shoulders and wore a short, neatly trimmed beard. He watched her impassively, his eyes hard and calculating, and even through the veil of death closing in on her, Miranda recognised him as the spitting image of the statues that dotted the temple. Suddenly, she felt a familiar feeling flood through her, one final revelation granted to her by her silent watching god in these, her last few moments of life.

She laughed bitterly at the sudden understanding and the precious little comfort it offered her as her fading vision fell upon the gaunt, shadowy stranger one last time.

"You..." she managed with her dying breath, "...are being lied to!"

A frown knotted her killer's brow as she spoke, but Miranda never saw it. Ares had already vanished, and now she was falling backward, down, and down, and down, away from the world above.

Her final thoughts were of Leonidas.

Maybe he would be there to catch her at the bottom.

Chapter Sixteen: How to Say Goodbye

The Inner City was almost completely silent as Callisto's horse trotted gingerly down its streets, the first rays of the dawn sun beginning to edge their way over the tops of the many flat roofed buildings that lined its wide, paved avenues. She remembered a little of the city's layout following her brief passages through it when she had first arrived, and then her game of cat and mouse with the Spartan patrols the following day, but many landmarks were still unfamiliar to her, and she could feel her heart beating steadily but insistently as she picked their way past them.

At each intersection she came to, she would cast furtive glances to either side of her, trying hard to spot any of Demosthenes' patrols, but each street she passed down was as empty as the last. Where were all the soldiers? A dark feeling of apprehension began to settle over her, and in the back of her mind there was a slight but no less nagging sensation that something in Sparta was deeply amiss this morning. Still, she had to move quickly, and the absence of patrols to dodge was proving something of a blessing. With dawn almost upon them, the streets would not stay quiet for long as people began to go about their daily business, and the last thing she wanted was to be caught flat footed, a wanted felon just wandering the streets of the city like a lost child.

At one point, she turned a corner to be faced by a large open plaza, and reined her horse in tightly mid step, the animal twitching agitatedly beneath her as she caught sight of a group of blue cloaked Spartan soldiers disappearing up a side street at the opposite end to her. She frowned as she watched them go. They had not appeared to be searching for her. In fact they had seemed to be in a hurry to be elsewhere. She remained still in her saddle for a moment longer, waiting to see if anyone had noticed her, but was greeted only by the same muted hush that had filled the air since she had departed the temple of Ares. Finally, she let out a deep breath she had not even realised she had been holding, and, with a click of her tongue, spurred her horse on.

The rest of the journey was less eventful, and soon she was turning onto a wide boulevard that must have run for a good four hundred meters, and that was lined on both sides by long, low roofed buildings with simple wooden doors and white washed walls. At the far end, the boulevard opened up into a small square and beyond it were a simple set of old, worn wooden gates surrounded by the equally weathered stone walls of Leonidas' palace.

Urging her mount to a brisker pace, she hurried along the boulevard, and it was not long before she was riding up to the gates themselves. Her horse pranced uneasily as she clutched tightly at the reins and without any real consideration as to what she was doing, she glanced back up the boulevard behind her to check that all was clear, before tilting her head back and calling up to the walls above.

"Hey!" she yelled.

For long moments, no answer came and she shifted in her saddle, scratching at the small of her back in irritation. There had to be some guards up there somewhere. Even this deep into the city, she could not imagine them being so slack as to not have a night watch in place.

"Hey!" She shouted again. "It's Callisto! Where's Leonidas? I need to speak with him!"

Again, there was nothing but silence.

"If you don't open these gates right now, I'm going to break them down for you!" she yelled in frustration, preparing to ride up and pound on the thick old wood with the pommel of her sword.

Suddenly, with a protesting groan of ancient hinges, the gates began to open and Callisto's horse pranced lightly sideways as they swung wide, pushed by a pair of Spartan soldiers, their muslces bunched from the strain, and revealing the palace courtyard beyond. It was all abustle with hundreds of Spartans, each one busily preparing for war.

Callisto gave a quick mental headcount and nodded grimly to herself. Almost exactly three hundred men give or take a couple here and there. They were clustered in small groups around the courtyard, polishing and sharpening swords, and adjusting the fit of their armour. Each one was fully adorned in black leather breast plates and crested helms with the familiar wide, perfectly circular bronze shields slung across their backs. At their sides they carried spears, each one greater in length than the man wielding it was tall, and polished so that its tip would shine brilliantly in the early dawn light.

One particular cluster of men caught her eye. Standing apart from the rest and in deep discussion over a small table, she immediately recognised Sentos, Leonidas' right hand man, who she had met when she first arrived in Sparta. He wore his helmet now, and it was marked by a thick gouge, scored through the bronze just above the right eye. Next to him stood Leonidas himself, his own high crested helm held steadily in the crook of his arm as the two of them studied the same map Callisto had seen the morning before.

Off to the side, leaning with that seemingly casual nonchalance he had that Callisto could actually tell was anything but casual, was Athelis. He had his notched dagger unsheathed so that he could slide a whetstone down its length with a dull scraping sound, and was regarding the Spartans from beneath hooded eyes. His gaze flicked toward Callisto as she rode her horse in through the gates, and he gave her the barest of nods.

"I'd rather you didn't smash my gates down, Callisto" Leonidas said in answer to her earlier threat as she drew nearer to him. He looked up, seeing her for the first time and flashed her a smile. It appeared genuine, but Callisto had learned well how to read the emotions people hid beneath the surface over the years. There was a look of tension behind his eyes now, and something else too, that chilled Callisto to the bone; a look of weary resignation.

"They're over two centuries old," he continued, "and have withstood a hundred attacks in that time, from a hundred different armies. I'm not sure they could withstand you as well."

Callisto slanted an eyebrow at him as she dismounted gracefully from her horse.

"That may just be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," she grinned sarcastically, but somewhere deep inside her, a small part of her actually thought it might even be the truth.

Next to Leonidas, Sentos rolled his eyes.

"My King," he interrupted before the conversation could derail any further, "we cannot delay any longer. The Hot Gates are at least a day's hard march from here; longer if we wish to keep the men fresh. If we do not depart soon, we will not be able to reach them before the Persians do."

Leonidas nodded gravely, his good humour disappearing in an instant as he turned back to Callisto.

"Were you successful?" he said. "Did you get the answers we were looking for?"

Callisto sighed frustratedly

"Yes and no," she admitted, doing her best not to think about the image of Cirra in flames, the haunting laughter, and that all too familiar silhouette that had strolled so easily through the blazing inferno. "I got some answers, but I'm not sure how much help they'll be, or even if they were the answers I really wanted in the first place."

For a brief instant, Ares' words sounded, cruel and sharp, in the back of her mind.

" They chose you because you're expendable,"

She gave an uncomfortable swallow, and Leonidas frowned at her.

"What's that supposed to mean?" he asked. Callisto only shook her head.

"Nothing," she said a touch too sharply. "One thing I do know though, is that the Followers are more involved in this than we thought."

Athelis perked up at that, straightening from his slouched stance against the wall and tucking the notched dagger back into its sheath with a rasping hiss.

"How involved?" he asked curiously.

Callisto shot him an impatient glance. They did not have time to be entertaining his vendetta... and for a brief moment that thought gave her pause. Once, her own vendetta was all she had lived for. It had driven her forward her entire life, like some great engine powered by the hatred she held in her heart for Xena. Now though, what was it that was driving her forward? It certainly was not Xena, and that realisation alone was enough to surprise her. She could not remember when exactly it had changed so completely. Even after Hope had killed Solan, there had still been some strange, inexplicable link between the two of them. Now though, she was not sure if she really felt anything. Was it Elysium then? If she had asked herself the same question the day before, she knew she would have said yes, but again, now she was not so certain.

"Very involved," she replied simply to Athelis, before turning back to face Leonidas again and doing her best to put the unpleasant thoughts she was having to one side. "Up to their eyes in it kind of involved. They know where the tomb is. It's why they wanted Monocles dead; to stop him finding it and stop you being able to use it to march the whole Spartan army to war."

Leonidas regarded her steadily.

"You really believe that?" he said.

"Oh come on Leonidas!" Callisto gave an exasperated groan as she spoke. "It fits perfectly! How much more proof do you need! You're being played, all of you! Sparta, the Persians, You, Nestus, Demosthenes, Xerxes; you're all marching the beat of Pelion's twisted little drum! Even Miranda agrees with me!"

Leonidas continued to stare at her for a moment longer, then turned to Sentos.

"Begin the preparations," he said. "Upon my return, we march."

Sentos gave a tight, controlled nod, then span on his heel and strode away, motioning to a nearby group of soldiers as he went, who immediately fell in beside him as he began to announce orders to them.

Leonidas turned back to face her, his shoulders sagging slightly now that none of his men had their eyes on him.

"I don't need any more proof Callisto," he said, "Your word is good enough for me."

Callisto opened her mouth to protest again, then snapped it shut when she realised just what it was he had said.

"It is?" she said, feeling more than a little confused. Did he truly believe her? Honestly? She felt something strange at that, an odd warmth deep down inside her that she could only remember having felt once before, when she had sat outside the inn in Penthos with Dahlia. It had only been for the briefest of instants, but in that moment, she had felt as if she could finally see something in her life beyond all the death and rage that had filled it up until then.

She cocked her head at him curiously.

"Are you sure you're feeling alright?" she asked. "The stress isn't getting to you or anything?"

Leonidas gave a low chuckle.

"One of my oldest friends just prophesied my death, and a strange woman with a sordid past is telling me that ancient gods are trying to loose themselves on the world and cause untold chaos and destruction." He shrugged philosophically. "Under the circumstances, I think I'm holding up quite well."

Callisto gave him a wicked grin.

"I've seen better," she said.

Leonidas let out a gently despairing laugh, then turned on his heel and began heading toward the palace.

"Come on," he said. "I was just about to check in on Monocles and see how he's getting on. He's not been having much luck I'm afraid, but maybe with the two of you sharing your information, things will become a little clearer."

Callisto felt her heart lurch slightly at that. She had been hoping Monocles would have managed to locate the tomb by now. It was all very well knowing that the Followers had already uncovered its location, but she did not see how that was any use to her in trying to find it. She supposed she could always torture one of their members, but it would be slow, and unreliable. She did not after all know if every member of the cult knew the tomb's location, or only those high up in its membership. She could waste hours trying to extract information which her victim might not even have, and to be brutally honest, the screaming would probably just wind up giving her a headache anyway.

"Are you coming mercenary?" Leonidas called back over his shoulder toward Athelis. "We are off to speak with your charge."

Athelis fixed the Spartan King with a hard stare, but only nodded in return and began to follow them inside.

It did not take them long to find Monocles. The little Athenian academic was sitting in a grand dining hall, that was almost entirely empty of people save for himself and an unassuming looking Helot slave sitting patiently nearby, his face a studied mask of complete neutrality as he watched Monocles work. It did not take long to realise why the man was present though. The long table at which Monocles was seated was all but groaning under the weight of the hundreds of books, scrolls and scraps of parchments that Monocles had clearly had brought up to him from the city archives. It would have taken an army of Helots to carry it all here, and this man had clearly remained on hand to fetch and carry anything that Monocles himself could not handle.

Monocles himself had his head buried in a scroll so long that it ran off the edge of the table and hung almost to the floor. His nose was practically pressed up against it, and he was squinting with one eye so that he could hold that strange glass lens he wore in place between his cheek and his brow while he scribbled intently away on a large swathe of parchment to one side of him. So intent was he on his work that he barely even looked up as they entered, and he certainly did not appear to recognise any of them when he did.

Leonidas cleared his throat politely, but Monocles did not so much as glance up.

"I don't think that's going to work," Athelis smirked.

"Let me try something," Callisto said, and before Leonidas could stop her, she had crossed to the table, an impish grin lighting across her face. Quietly she squatted down so that her head was on the same level as the little Athenian.

"Monocles," she said coyly, "Monocles?"

"Mmmm?" he grunted without looking up.

"I just thought I should warn you, the books are on fire."

"WHAT!?" The little man's head shot from left to right in pure panic as he quickly surveyed the length of the table, his breath seizing in his throat, before finally gasping loudly when he realised what the truth of the situation was. Slowly his eyes came to rest on Callisto, and for the first time since she had met him, Callisto got to see him annoyed. It was even more amusing than she had thought it would be. His face turned a beetroot red, and he gnawed steadily at one side of his mouth.

"Very funny," he said churlishly.

"I thought so," Callisto grinned, then straightened so that she could plop herself girlishly on the bench opposite him.

Monocles watched her silently for a moment, blinking once or twice as he did so, that weird eye glass lending the gesture a strange, off kilter perspective. Finally he let out a soft sigh, as if trying to calm himself.

"It  is  good to see you again my dear," he said eventually, "and, sense of humour aside, your arrival could not be more fortuitous! If I were not a man of reason, I would say that it is almost as if the gods had a hand in it, guiding us from one key point in out lives to the next in a never ending string of causality that..."

"Monocles,  my dear ," Callisto interjected quickly, mocking his familiarity with a sneering cadence all her own. "Before you go prattling off on yet another pointless tangent, please, just tell me, in as few words as possible, that you've found the tomb."

The little Athenian academic's happy smile vanished in an instant to be replaced by a look of crestfallen embarrassment.

"I am afraid I have not," he said sadly. "My investigations have come to something of an impasse unfortunately. The scribes at the city archives were able to locate the missing ledger I was looking for, but it was little help truth be told. The money trail I was following goes dead a generation or so too late for me to trace it all the way back to good King Leonidas here's ancestors."

Callisto felt something dark and sickening stir in the pit of her stomach. This was not the news she had wanted to hear. If Monocles had been successful, they would simply have been able to use that information to usurp the Ephors' authority and place Leonidas in overall command of the Spartan army. That the location of the tomb was still unclear was a severe blow to any hopes she had of stopping this war before it could ever start. Still, maybe Monocles had overlooked something. He was absent minded enough that it would hardly come as a surprise, although Callisto suspected that when it came to records, and information gleaned from books, he was far less scatter brained.

"Why exactly did the trail go dead?" she asked, picking thoughtfully at a wooden splinter in the surface of the table as she did so.

Monocles gave non-committal shrug of his shoulders, as Athelis and Leonidas slid onto the bench beside Callisto.

"It's all a bit muddled," he said. "There are some oblique references to some kind of land deal, but I can find no mention of it in any official financial ledgers. I am certain the tomb is located wherever that land is, but without any official records, there is simply no way to pinpoint the precise location of it. Without knowing where the trail begins, I can't trace it back."

Callisto gritted her teeth. Why for every two steps she managed to take forward did she end up also having to take one step back? Why could she never seem to get out ahead of the curve?

"What's the matter?" Athelis asked, regarding her steadily.

"It's the Followers," she began, and couldn't help but notice the man's eyes narrow when she mentioned them. "I'm positive they know where the tomb is. I think it may even be why they attacked you on the road."

She turned her gaze to Monocles, addressing him directly.

"They didn't want you to find it."

"Those bandits you killed were Followers!?" Leonidas said, his voice ringing with surprise. "Why didn't you tell me any of that in the first place!?"

"Two reasons," Callisto replied smartly.

"Number one," she continued holding up a finger. "I didn't know if I could trust you back when I first figured it out, or even if you'd care."

"And number two?" Leonidas said.

Callisto gave him a defensive glance.

"It kind of slipped my mind," she admitted.

When Leonidas just rolled his eyes in exasperation, Callisto planted her hands on her hips and glared at him.

"Hey!" she snapped, "I've been a little busy lately!"

"Haven't you just," Leonidas replied, giving her a knowing smile as he did so.

Next to them, Athelis was tapping a finger thoughtfully against the pommel of his sword.

"I don't get it," he said. "What would the Followers want with some dusty old tomb? That kind of thing was never Pelion's concern before. He was all about recruiting. He wanted as many people in that cult of his as he could convince to join it."

"It still is his concern," Callisto replied. "They're using the Pneuma in an indoctrination ritual, but the Temple of Ares has the only viable supply in the region, and I'm not sure they really want to share with the cult of Cronus."

Leonidas shot her a quizzical look.

"What does any of that have to do with my ancestor's tomb?"

"There's a Pneuma spring there..." Callisto began, only to be cut off by a revelatory gasp from Monocles.

"YES!" he cried loudly, causing all three of them to turn and stare at him as if his head had suddenly spun a full three hundred sixty degrees. "Yes, yes, yes, of course! That's it! Pneuma! The Temples! How could I have over looked it! Donations wouldn't be recorded on the ledgers! Of course, of course, of course!"

"What are you jabbering about?" Athelis demanded, but Monocles had already turned his attention back to the table and the vast spread of scrolls and books laid out before him, his eyes scanning rapidly across them.

"Not here," he muttered to himself. "Not here."

He began patting at the piles of scroll and parchment, occasionally lifting one or another to check what lay beneath them. When that proved fruitless, he began to pat himself up and down too, slapping theatrically at his robe until his hands pressed against something at his chest and he froze. With a delighted, almost giddy laugh, he drew a second scroll at the same time as he dropped the first one, seemingly forgotten, back to the table.

"Useless now!" he muttered distractedly to himself. "I can't believe I over looked such a simple detail! Master Herodotus would be very unimpressed, yes, most unimpressed indeed."

He continued to mutter softly to himself as he unrolled the second scroll and began tracing what appeared to be long lines of figures and dates with a pudgy index finger.

Callisto and the others all continued to watch him in stunned silence.

After a minute, Callisto finally managed to speak.

"Care to explain that little outburst for us, or are we just going to have to guess?" she said.

"Mmmm?" Monocles said, barely glancing up from the scroll at first. Eventually his eyes met hers, and Callisto cocked an impatient eyebrow at him, her fingers drumming rhythmically across the coarse surface of the table

"Oh..." he stammered nervously, "...um... yes... well..."

He coughed to clear his throat and, more obviously, to stall for time while he considered what he was going to say. Finally he turned to Leonidas.

"Good King," he began, more smoothly this time, but still with a quiver of nervousness to his tone, "am I correct in assuming that Spartan law declares all burial grounds or memorials as inviolate?"

Leonidas nodded.

"To trespass on such grounds, or to remove anything from them is a crime yes; one that is even punishable by death or exile for the disrespect being shown to another's honoured ancestors."

"So if there  were  a supply of Pneuma there..." Callisto began, slowly beginning to catch on to Monocles' line of reasoning.

"Then it would effectively be unusable," Leonidas said. "None would be allowed to enter the tomb to collect it."

"And you would have perfect protection!" Monocles announced theatrically. "There are lots of stories about ancient Spartan initiation practices, dating back to a time before Spartans settled these lands. Athenian records from the time paint the Spartans as terrible bloodthirsty warriors, made fearsome and fearless through some ancient rite of passage. Of course such documents can rarely be used to form a sound historical profile of a culture - too much politics wrapped up in their writing you see - but where there's smoke there's fire, or so they say, and If the ancient Spartans had access to a supply of Pneuma, that would certainly explain the rituals they used to undertake."

"Wait a minute!" Callisto said, shooting Monocles a disbelieving stare. "You already know what Pneuma is? What it does?"

"Of course I do," he replied with a dismissive wave of his hand as he went back to studying his scroll. "Doesn't everyone?"

"I didn't!" Callisto snapped.

Monocles gave an amused snort.

"What were you? Born on a farm?"

Callisto narrowed her eyes at him.

"Yes actually," she said, her voice cold and hard. "The same farm that Xena and her army burned to the ground, with my family inside."

Monocles looked at her, eyes wide and obviously taken aback by the sudden harshness to her tone. She just stared back at him challengingly.

Athelis glanced between the two of them, waiting for someone to speak and finally giving a soft grunt of frustration when neither of them did.

"Can we just get back to the topic at hand..." he said impatiently "...before some of us start putting down roots."

"Yes..." Monocles said finally, managing to blink and look away from Callisto's all too steady and discomfiting stare. "Weeeellll... what I was trying to say was... the  point  I was trying to make was, that the Oracular temples have never taken kindly to the widespread use of Pneuma. It obviously isn't in their best interests to let its use run rampant, and it's been a practice they've been trying to stamp out for generations. In Sparta at least, it would appear they managed to succeed, apparently with the help of Lycurgus."

"You're saying King Lycurgus, my ancestor, had his tomb built on this particular stretch of land you mentioned, so that it would place a cap on the supply of Pneuma in Sparta?" Leonidas said.

"Exactly!" Monocles replied, nodding enthusiastically as he managed to get his train of thought back on track. "Lycurgus was a reformer, a man who wanted to free his people from the superstitious dogma that he felt was holding them back. Athenian records from the time speak quite highly of him in this regard, painting a picture of a noble and just man, a man of impassioned logic, thoughtful and meticulous in his approach to all aspects of his kingship."

Callisto scowled. This was taking too long. The sun was climbing higher in the sky with each passing minute and Leonidas would have no choice but to depart soon. A history lesson was the last thing they all needed, but, as usual, Monocles seemed intent on delivering them one anyway.

"What does any of this have to do with finding the tomb's location?" she said, trying to steer the conversation back on track.

"It's the donations!" Monocles said as if that answer alone were patently obvious.

Callisto and the others just stared back at him blankly and he gave them a weary, long suffering sigh in return.

"Donations to and from religious orders are not recorded in the government's ledgers, for obvious reasons. Only official transactions are," he explained, "mainly because in most cases, the Temples of Ares and Artemis were the chief beneficiaries of all donations made. Those donations are, as a result, recorded in the temple records, which are sketchy at best..."

He waved the scroll he was holding emphatically under their noses.

"...however," he continued, "I just so happen to have a record of temple donations made around the time of Lycurgus' death."

He thrust the scroll out toward Leonidas, who took it from him with a confused look on his face.

"Second column," Monocles said, gesturing excitedly. "Third from the bottom."

Leonidas frowned but glanced down at the paper. Slowly the frown began to disappear, replaced by a look of genuine surprise.

"That's odd," he said.

"Isn't it just," Monocles grinned cryptically.

Callisto scowled at them both.

"Well?" she said. "I hate being kept in suspense. What does it say?"

"The temple donated  to  Lycurgus days before he died," Leonidas said without glancing up from the scroll.

Monocles nodded enthusiastically.

"How much?" Athelis asked, craning his neck to see what it was Leonidas was reading.

"A lot," Leonidas replied.

"Why would they do that?" Athelis frowned.

"Clearly a payment," Monocles said. "Financial aid or a payoff maybe. Now look here," he continued, pointing to a different spot on the same scroll. "Third column, Fifth from the top."

"What does this one say?" Callisto asked, genuinely curious now as to how all of this was supposed to fit together.

"A year after Lycurgus' death, the temple received a donation from Lycurgus' surviving heirs," Leonidas said, his eyes scanning back and forth across the scroll. "It wasn't money though. It was a large portion of land, some three square miles all told,somewhere on the edge of what was then Spartan territory."

"That  has  to be the land deal I spoke of!" Monocles said, beaming smugly from ear to ear.

"And you think the temple paid him to build it there, and after he died, his heirs then turned round and delivered that land right back to the temple?" Callisto asked, hoping she had managed to keep up with the conversation.

Monocles nodded again.

"Precisely," he said.

Callisto felt as if a great weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She did not think she had ever felt so relieved before, and slowly, she let out a long, tired exhalation.

"Then we've done it," she said. "We can take all of this to the Ephors, and you can prove your lineage beyond a doubt, Leonidas. You can order the whole Spartan army to Thermopylae and stop the war in its tracks."

Leonidas shook his head dejectedly.

"It's not that simple," he replied.

Callisto could only hang her head in her hands and groan in dismay.

"But of course it isn't," she grunted frustratedly. "Two steps forward, one step back. It always has to be more complicated than that doesn't it."

"We have no evidence that the tomb is in fact on this stretch of land," Monocles nodded in agreement with the Spartan King. "Just a vague theory, and for King Leonidas' plan to work, it will take no less than absolute proof of the temple's location for the Ephors to be convinced of his legitimacy."

For a moment they all fell silent, Callisto brooding darkly with her own thoughts. She could not believe they had come so close only to be foiled at the final hurdle.

"Well," Athelis announced, clambering up from the table, "I guess there's only one thing for it."

She eyed him from beneath her heavy frown.

"And what's that?" she said.

"The same thing we were planning on doing anyway," the mercenary replied. "We go to this scrap of land, find the tomb, march back here and get the Ephors to surrender control back to Leonidas."

"Now that..." Callisto said, pointing at Athelis but looking to Leonidas and Monocles, "...is probably the single best idea I've heard all day."

Leonidas glanced at the mercenary sideways, a strange expression on his face.

"You would throw your lot in with mine?" he said curiously. "Why? There is little I can reward you with."

Athelis just shrugged, and flashed the Spartan King a thin smile that had no mirth in it.

"I already told you," he said, his voice tight and flat but carrying an undercurrent of dark satisfaction with it. "I want Pelion's head on a stick. He controls the Followers, and the Followers want this Pneuma stuff that's in the tomb. Seeing them hurting when I take it from them will be more than payment enough for me."

Leonidas nodded, clambering up from his seat to stand squarely in front of Athelis. For a moment the two men just seemed to be standing there, sizing one another up, then, Leonidas reached out and proffered his hand to the other man.

Athelis said nothing. He simply regarded it questioningly for a moment, then turned his gaze back to Leonidas.

"You're a better man than I thought you were," the Spartan King explained matter-of-factly.

Athelis gave him a grin, but did not take his hand.

"Not that much better," he said, and Leonidas nodded again.

"So that's the way it is then?" he said.

"Isn't it always the best way for it to be," Athelis replied, still grinning. Callisto rolled her eyes as she watched them. Men and their posturing!

"If you two boys are done measuring..." she interrupted, "...we still don't know where this 'scrap of land' actually is."

Behind her, she heard Monocles clear his throat softly.

"I think, and this is only a working theory mind you, that I may be able to help with that," he said, retrieving the scroll he had previously handed to Leonidas, and shoving it back into the folds of his robes as he did so. "The Temple of Ares has periodically granted some of its holdings to the Spartan government as a display of gratitude for Sparta's consistent and faithful worship over the centuries. The lands you're talking about were returned to Spartan control some fifty years ago."

Callisto narrowed her eyes in confusion.

"Why would they do that?" she said.

"Presumably because they did not realize the tomb was buried beneath it. Remember that the tomb was built hundreds of years ago, and the records of its location are deliberately obscure so as to keep the Pneuma spring hidden. Hardly surprising that over time its location was lost. Now, if I remember rightly, these lands have become used as farm land. The soil there is considered particularly rich and fertile, perfect for growing a wide variety of crops, including a very special sub species of turnip that..."

He trailed off as he caught sight of Callisto eyeing him impatiently.

"...Anyway," he continued with an embarrassed cough, "the lands were relinquished following the battle at Marathon, and entered into a trust that was to be granted to freed Helots..."

Callisto and Leonidas glanced at one another.

"Freed Helots," Leonidas said, and Callisto nodded.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" she said.

"If what you say about the Followers and their motives is true, then his death would suddenly make a lot more sense."

"Whose death?" Athelis interjected. "What are you both talking about?"

"Soriacles," Callisto said, "the Helot commander from Marathon who died a couple of days ago."

"He  was  granted a large dispensation of land for his heroism in that battle," Leonidas said. "It would make sense if the tomb was buried somewhere beneath it all."

"You think he found it and they killed him for it?" Athelis said, beginning to catch on.

"It does fit," Callisto replied. "He must have realised what it was they had down there. They probably killed him to keep it quiet."

"Then I take it that's where we're headed then," Athelis said, almost sounding excited by the prospect, before turning to reach across the table and clap Monocles heartily on the back.

"Nice work!" he said, and Monocles gave a satisfied smile.

"Bet you can't wait to get down there and see it all for yourself…" Athelis continued, only to trail off when the smile disappeared from Monocles' face, to be replaced a paleness so white, the little Athenian looked like he was about to be sick.

"I… uh… I'm afraid I won't be joining you," he said, letting his eyes fall ashamedly back to the table.

"You've got to be joking!" Athelis said. "All this time you've been banging on about how you'll be the first person to write about Spartan history, record it in all its glory, and now here's the chance for you to reach out and touch it, and you're not going to even try and take it?"

"I have a profound love of history," Monocles admitted, "but I also have a profound love of my own skin."

He gave a nervous swallow, before continuing on.

"I've been doing some reading," he said, still unable to meet their eyes, "about these Followers, about Cronus."

Slowly, he managed to wrench his gaze away from the table, unable to meet Callisto's fierce stare, but succeeding in looking Leonidas directly in the eye.

"I was as doubtful as you were Great King, about them and their religion, and about the danger they represented, but still they fascinated me. They were just so intriguingly different to all the other religious sects I've come across. The more I study them though, the more the more I find myself learning to be afraid of them. They are not to be trifled with and then disregarded…"

Finally he succeeded in turning to face Callisto.

"…They are more dangerous than you realise," he said softly, the fear evident in his voice. "I think by going there – to the tomb I mean – you will only… how can I put it… upset them? And most grievously so, I might add. I value my own life far too highly to risk it in such a way. If that makes me a coward..."

"It does," Callisto cut in sharply.

"...then so be it," Monocles finished, letting his gaze return, shamefacedly, to the table

Callisto continued to glare at him angrily, then let out a disgusted grunt, and pushed herself up from the table.

"So that's it then?" She hissed at him. "All this time and effort, and now you're just going to stay here, safe behind your scrolls and your books while other people put their lives on the line?"

Monocles nodded sadly.

"I am no warrior my dear," he said. "My love of history is genuine, and I would so dearly love to accompany you and see the tomb in all its glory."

He shook his head sadly.

"I have no desire to die there though," he said, and Callisto gave a derisive snort as the little man turned back to face Leonidas.

"My most humble apologies Great King, if I am a disappointment to you. If you so wish, I will take my leave of you now, and be on my way back to Athens. I think I have achieved as much as I can for you here, if that is any consolation for my otherwise poor service to you and this great city."

Leonidas puffed out his cheeks as if not really knowing what to say, then let loose a long low exhalation.

"That will not be necessary Monocles," he said reaching over the table and offering his hand the same way he had done for Athelis earlier. "You have done me a service. The service I asked of you in point of fact. Your duty to me is done, and done well. For that I thank you. I bear you no ill will for not wishing to endanger yourself by carrying it any further."

Monocles gave an embarrassed nod and reached out to shake the Spartan's hand, once again unable to meet the gazes of those around him.

"I thank you for your graciousness," he said, then swallowed nervously. "However, I still think it best if I begin my preparations to leave though. I have a feeling that come your departure from the city, I will be decidedly less welcome here."

Leonidas nodded.

"You may well..." he began to say, when suddenly, the doors they had entered the dining hall through flew open with a loud crash of wood against stone that echoed off the walls all around them.

"Great King!" A voice called across the room, and Leonidas span on his heel to face the newcomer.

It was someone Callisto did not recognise; a fresh faced young Spartan soldier advancing across the room with a clean, unmarked red cloak, and pristine armour. The closer he came, the more Callisto began to realise just how young he truly was. He must have barely been out of his teens judging by the thin layer of stubble that marked his chin. While realistically there was probably not a great deal of difference in their ages, the few years she did have on this boy seemed like a lifetime to her. In those years, she had seen and done so much while he had probably never ventured far beyond Sparta's walls. She frowned slightly, uncertain of why exactly that thought bothered her so much.

"One of your three hundred?" she asked quietly, and Leonidas nodded grimly.

"I have to make use of all the resources available to me unfortunately," he muttered, clearly understanding where her thoughts were headed, then raised his voice to call across the hall.

"You have news for me Theocles?" he said.

The young Spartan dropped to one knee in front of Leonidas, his fists pressed to the ground and his spear laid flat.

"I do my Lord," he said. "Ithius has arrived as you said he would, and he wishes to speak with you."

Leonidas glanced at Callisto, who once again felt her spirits rising. This could be just the break they needed.

"He is waiting outside I take it?" Leonidas said.

"He is my Lord."

Leonidas turned to look at both she and Athelis.

"We'd best be headed back out there then I suppose," he said. "It's time I was back about my business anyway."

With that he turned and began to head for the door. Callisto fell into step alongside Athelis a few feet behind him, leaving Monocles alone to begin the long process of gathering up his things.

Outside, the sun was already beginning to climb high above the courtyard, drenching it in warm light that gave Callisto a vague sense of relief. With Ithius here, and with the Helots at his back, Leonidas might still stand a chance to prove Miranda's prophecy wrong, and in doing so, ruin the plans of Pelion and his Followers at the same time.

She caught sight of Ithius standing close to the table Leonidas had been at earlier. Sentos and a number of other Spartans were standing close by, and Leonidas' captain was speaking quietly with Ithius, while the other Spartans watched the former Helot warily.

With Ithius were two other men she did not recognise. Both were shorter than Ithius himself, but one was particularly squat, like a wild boar, and with the same look of power too. He had thick arms and legs, and his hair was shaved right down to the scalp. The second man was heavily built as well, although not quite so squat or thick set as the first. He came close to Ithius' height, and was leaning nonchalantly against a heavy looking club that Callisto imagined it would take her both hands to lift.

Her mind turned as she tried to figure out who the two men could be. Helots she was sure, judging by the weather beaten look of them both that suggested a life of hard labour. They lacked the deference she had seen others show to the Spartans however. Freed Helots then, like Ithius perhaps? More than likely, and going by their presence here they were probably important figures in the Helot community.

As they approached, Sentos glanced back over his shoulder at them, and stepped to one side, allowing Ithius to lay eyes on them for the first time. Straight away, Callisto noted that he did not smile. There was a tense set to his shoulders, and his brow was furrowed in something close to discomfort as he glanced furtively toward the taller of the two men with him. Callisto felt that same sickening lurch in her stomach that she was becoming all too accustomed to as her instincts cried out in alarm.

Something was desperately wrong here.

From the way Leonidas squared his shoulders and lifted his chin as they drew closer, she could tell he had sensed the tension in the air as well. He was not approaching Ithius now as his friend, but rather, as a King.

Ithius'  king.

Next to her, Athelis trudged along, seemingly oblivious to what was going on, his hand, as always, hovering close to the pommel of his sword. Callisto found herself wondering just how oblivious the mercenary really was to the events around him, and how much he actually noticed.

"Ithius, my old comrade," Leonidas said, still managing to sound warm and welcoming as they drew to a stop in front of the assembled Helots. In a single smooth motion, he turned and nodded to the other two men accompanying Ithius.

"Trellus," he said simply, "Drogo. It has been too long since we all fought side by side at Marathon."

"King Leonidas," the squat man named Drogo said diplomatically, bowing slightly as he did so. "It  has  been a long time, although hardly unexpected considering your duties."

Next to him, the man called Trellus gave a loud sniff but said nothing, leading Ithius to glance at him sharply. Leonidas just ignored the other man's disrespect, instead shifting his stance to appear more at ease and conversational.

"So," he began cordially, clearly in an effort to diffuse some of the tension. "I do not recall having summoned any of you. May I ask what it is that brings you to my doorstep this morning?"

He looked pointedly at Ithius. "Good news I trust?"

Ithius shifted slightly, one hand hooked around his belt and tightening as Leonidas spoke.

"It's about your offer," he said, his voice quiet but firm.

"Ah yes," Leonidas nodded as if in sudden understanding, but glancing sideways at Trellus as he did so. "As I recall it, we had  agreed  that your people would offer me assistance in my attempts to protect them and their lands from the oncoming Persian invasion."

Trellus sniffed again, and this time there was a dismissive edge to it.

"What lands would those be?" he sneered derisively, and Callisto felt her fists involuntarily clench.

"Excuse me," she said, adopting a note of forced politeness, "I don't believe we've been formally introduced. You would be...?"

As she spoke, she extended her hand toward the other man, watching him expectantly and plastering on her most ingratiating smile as she did so. The man looked at her outstretched hand for a moment then took it firmly in his own.

"Trellus," he said simply.

"Trellus," she echoed with a nod of her head, as if she were trying the name on for size. "Pleased to meet you. I'm Callisto. Perhaps you've heard of me."

Trellus' eyes widened as he heard her name, and Callisto's smile suddenly turned vicious. Her fingers tightened hard around his wrist and she twisted sharply, bringing the bone to the point of breaking and causing him to double over in pain.

As he struggled in her grip, she held on tightly, not relenting her iron grasp for even the barest instant. Slowly, dangerously, she leaned in close to him.

"The next time you address him, you will watch your tongue," she said, her voice carrying a deathly chill to it, "otherwise, I may just rip it out of you."

"We heard you had left the city," Trellus hissed back at her in protest from between teeth gritted in pain. Callisto laughed cruelly.

"You really shouldn't believe everything you hear," she crooned, glancing up at the men watching her as she did so. "I have unfinished business here, and, just so all of you know, I  never  leave my business unfinished."

"Enough Callisto," Leonidas said. It was supposed to be an order but she treated it as if it had been a question and tilted her head slightly, a victorious grin on her face.

"For now," she said, and released her grip on Trellus. The big man stepped back from her rapidly, massaging his wrist and fixing her with a dark glare as he did so. Ithius stepped up to him from behind, placing his hand on the other man's shoulder in an attempt to assuage his wounded pride.

"It's alright Trellus," he said. "I can handle this on my own."

"Handle what?" Callisto snapped at him dangerously, "Me? Now why would you need to do that? We're all friends and allies here after all aren't we?"

In her gut, she could feel that oh so familiar fire of anger flaring hot and heavy. Something was definitely out of kilter here, and she already had that same sickening feeling that she had felt a dozen times before already this morning, like an instinctual warning that worse was coming from just over the horizon. Who was Trellus and what was he doing here? Why was Ithius acting so cagey. She was pretty sure she already knew the reason, but she still needed to hear it spoken out loud. She simply could not bring herself to believe it otherwise. The universe could not be  that  cruel.

From behind, Leonidas' gaze fell steady and heavy on her back, and she turned to face him, her jaw set defiantly.

"Aren't we?" she said again, not knowing what else to say.

"Callisto," he said softly, and Callisto was amazed by the sheer weariness that seemed to have settled over him, as if nothing surprised him anymore, and instead, only tired him. "I think it would be best if we heard what Ithius has to say."

He glanced past her toward Ithius, a hurt look in his eyes.

"Wouldn't you agree old friend?" he said.

Ithius gave a slight nod and swallowed hard.

"My apologies my King," he said, stepping well clear of Trellus and Drogo as he spoke, and Callisto could not help but notice the way his voice almost broke when he said 'my'. "Your offer was generous..."

He paused as if unable to finish the sentence, then gave a long defeated sigh. "...but the Ephors' counter offer was even more so."

Callisto felt as if someone had just kicked her hard in the stomach, and for a brief instant all was silent as Leonidas stood perfectly still, his gaze calm and measuring.

"And what offer would that be?" he said flatly.

"Freedom for all of us!" Trellus interjected, much to Ithius' apparent consternation. "Every single Helot man, woman and child free from Spartan rule and law!"

Callisto shot the man a withering glance and he fell silent again in an instant, but continued to watch her warily out of the corner of his eye.

"And the price of that freedom?" Leonidas pushed, never taking his eyes off his friend.

Ithius shifted uncomfortably but Leonidas did not give him an inch, continuing to stare at him steadily, his gaze never once faltering.

"Betrayal is an ugly act Ithius," he said quietly. "You are a better man than to try and hide from the truth of that. I will make you say it before we are done, if only so that you do not regret it later."

Ithius straightened as Leonidas spoke, his shoulders squaring, and his jaw taking on a grim set as he looked the Spartan King flatly in the eye, no longer friend or slave, but merely equal.

"The price was your life," he said as evenly as he could manage. "The Ephors know that without our numbers, your plan is doomed to failure."

Callisto could not hold back any longer.

"I should've known!" she snapped, her voice dripping with disgusted bile as she looked around the group, her fingers tensing into frustrated claws at her side. "Spartan bravery!? HA! And as for you Helots, all of you just sicken me!"

She turned her furious stare on Ithius.

"All your talking, all your pretty little words about freedom for your people, and in the end, how do you achieve it? By throwing your best friend to the wolves, and then closing your eyes so you don't have to look at the mess."

"The lady has a point," Athelis muttered quietly to himself; so quietly even that most of the group just ignored him.

"And who are you to judge us?" she heard Trellus retort. "There isn't a person in all of Greece who doesn't know of you and all the terrible deeds that can be laid at your feet. I'd hardly say you can take the moral high ground with this."

Callisto rounded on the man sharply.

"I'll take whatever 'ground' I wish!" she sneered. "I may be everything you say I am, but I've never once lied about it, which is more than I can say for any of you."

She turned back to Ithius again, her anger growing with each passing moment.

"We were this close!" she said, holding her thumb and fore finger only a centimeter apart. "This close! We'd managed to find the tomb, and with your numbers Leonidas could've..."

"...Could've what?" Ithius interrupted her. His voice had finally cracked, allowing Callisto to see his raw, impotent anger for the very first time "Answer me that! Could've what? Led more of my people to their deaths, so that those who could survive may have a chance of winning their freedom? That wasn't good enough Callisto. I had to make a choice, so I chose the path that would save them all, the path my people had already chosen! You would've had me risk all that on the vain hope that the Ephors would actually listen to some ancient claim of a divine bloodline that would fly in the face of centuries of tradition! That was never a real plan Callisto. That was grasping at straws!"

Callisto took a dangerous step forward, feeling her own anger flare brightly in response to his.

"And what did you think  I  would do when I found out about it!?" She sneered back at him. "Did you really think it would be that easy? Just knock me down in the dirt and that's where I'd stay!? I outfought a warrior princess Ithius, out thought the son of Zeus, and out schemed the God of War. I'm not that easily cast aside."

"To be honest," Ithius retorted, "I hadn't given you that much thought at all."

She clenched her fist tightly.

"Two steps forward Ithius, one step back you sanctimonious son of a..."

Even before she had finished speaking she was moving, her boots sliding forward over the cobbled courtyard as her fist lashed out with the speed of a striking scorpion to plant a powerful blow across Ithius' jaw.

The former Helot was taken completely unawares, his head snapping to one side as the strike caught him off balance. He stumbled slightly and Callisto was on him in an instant, her second blow taking him hard in the stomach and doubling him over as her knee flew up into his face, knocking him flat on his back. She was moving to kick him in the ribs when she felt powerful arms wrapping tightly around her as Leonidas, Athelis and Sentos used all their strength to drag her backward away from him.

"Get off me!" she shouted furiously, kicking and struggling against them with pure, undirected hatred. "LET ME GO! I'll kill him! Him and all the rest of them! Did you hear that Ithius! I'LL KILL ALL OF YOU!"

"NO YOU WON'T!" Leonidas bellowed over her shouted protests, and suddenly she felt his hands grip her by the arms and spin her to face him. His stare was hard and uncompromising.

"While I still draw breath, I will see to it that you do no such thing!" he said sternly.

"I won't have that much longer to wait then will I?" Callisto snapped back instinctively.

She regretted it almost immediately. Leonidas did not even flinch, but she could tell what she had just said had cut him almost as deep as Ithius' betrayal. She refused to back down though. She was not about to let this go. Instead, she glared back at him defiantly, and the two of them stood there like that for a long time, while behind them both, Ithius picked himself up out of the dirt. Finally Leonidas spoke.

"Walk with me," he said to her, taking a step away from the group and gesturing for her to follow.

"Is that supposed to be an order?" she sneered back.

"It certainly wasn't a request," Leonidas replied sharply as he continued to stride away from her.

Callisto could feel a sudden overwhelming urge to scream building inside her, but instead she gritted her teeth in frustration and followed after him, throwing venomous glances at Trellus the Ithius both as she left.

Around the courtyard, the Spartan's preparations were almost complete, and only a few of the soldiers standing close to Ithius, Athelis and the others looked even mildly perturbed by what was beginning to look increasingly like a suicide mission, especially if Miranda's prophecy was even slightly accurate.

"Look at them, Callisto," Leonidas said. "Brave men, every last one of them, each one willing to die for Sparta."

"Foolish men," Callisto sneered back irritatedly at him.

"I beg your pardon?" Leonidas replied, his tone ringing with a sharp edge of rebuke that Callisto simply ignored. He may have been a king, but she was  the  Warrior Queen. If he expected her to be in anyway deferential to him, he had quite another thing coming.

"They're all going to die, Leonidas," she snapped at him, her eyes blazing angrily. "You as well, and all for what? To prove some pathetic point of honour? To defend that precious Spartan pride that no one else in this snake pit seems to care about but you. You're playing into Cronus' plans! You shouldn't be doing this!"

For a moment Ares' words about preventing the war from happening being exactly what Cronus actually wanted echoed in her mind, but she did her best to shrug them off. The day she trusted Ares would be the day she forgave Xena for killing her family. The God of War had his own agendas. He always did, and she refused to be a slave to them any more.

"What would you have me do then?" Leonidas replied, his voice heavy with that same weariness she had noted earlier. "I feel like I'm a cornered animal Callisto. Prophecies of my death to my left, certain enslavement beneath a despot with a god complex to my right, betrayal at every other corner, and you and your quest against some ancient, mad Titan right down the middle. You tell me, which of those options would you choose? From where I'm standing, none of them look particularly palatable."

"Then don't fight," Callisto replied simply. "Leave them for the Persians. All of them; they deserve one another. You and these men don't have to die to protect people who are actively trying to make sure that that's exactly what you'll do."

Leonidas sighed sadly as he drew to a stop just in front of the gates to the palace courtyard.

"Yes I do," he said, and slapped a hand hard against the masonry of the palace wall. "I am a King of Sparta, Callisto. My duty is not just to protect these buildings; these walls, and halls, and towers, or even the people living in them. My duty is to protect the very essence of Sparta, and the ideals it was founded upon centuries ago by my own ancestors. The Persians would take all that away from us given half the chance, but I will see to it that their hands are struck off when they try."

Callisto smiled at him grimly.

"Now that's more my kind of talk," she said, straightening and folding her arms across her chest in an unyielding pose.

"Alright then," she continued. "If your mind is made up on this insanity, then who am I to disagree. Crazy is kind of my thing after all. March to Thermopylae if that's what you want, but know this; I'll be coming with you."

Leonidas stared at her dumbfounded for a moment then, shook his head sadly at her.

"No you won't," he said softly.

"Just you try and stop me," Callisto retorted. "I'm not one of your lovely little oiled tin pot soldiers, Leonidas. I don't have to follow your orders, and besides, with the odds so heavily stacked against you, you need someone with my level of skill fighting in your corner."

"That's precisely why I  don't  need you," Leonidas replied, tilting his head back to stare exasperatedly up to the heavens in silent appeal to the gods on high.

"Three hundred Spartans," he said, slowly and purposefully. "Against three hundred thousand Persians."

He returned his gaze to her.

"What difference would three hundred and one make?"

"Don't give me that," Callisto replied, pointing a slim finger at him for emphasis as she continued to speak. "The right person in the right place and at the right time can change history! Trust me, I know. I've seen it done."

"You're more right than you think you are," Leonidas replied. "But your time and place is not now, and certainly not at Thermopylae with me. We were both at the temple of Ares. We both know how this needs to happen. I have my battle to fight, you have yours, and they are not the same at all."

"So, suddenly you believe in prophecy then?" Callisto retorted, her voice heavy with incredulity.

"No," Leonidas shook his head firmly. "But I do believe in you."

The words hit her hard, forcing her into stunned silence.

"No one believes in me," she managed to say eventually.

"That's where you're wrong," Leonidas replied. "Of all the people in the world, Zeus, the King of the Gods himself, chose you to defend Greece from a great and terrible enemy..."

He cocked his head slightly at her and smiled.

"...and being dead at the time, I can't imagine you were an easy get," he finished.

"Way to build a girl up there, Leonidas," she said sarcastically.

"I'm serious," Leonidas said, his voice echoing the sentiment.

Callisto gave a derisive grunt.

"You just don't get it do you?" she said. "Zeus could have chosen anyone else to do his dirty work for him; Xena, or Hercules, or Ulysses or any number of other great heroes. Instead they came to me. I'm not some great warrior Leonidas. My cause was never noble or pure. I just wanted to have revenge, and to cause as much pain and suffering in doing it as I could."

She fixed him with a level stare.

"Zeus didn't choose me because he believed in me," she said. "He chose me because he could afford to lose me."

Leonidas regarded her silently for a moment, before finally speaking again.

"Listen to me, Callisto," he said, leaning in close as he did so. "I've not known you that long, but I think there's something I should tell you before I leave, something I think you need to hear."

Callisto cocked an eyebrow at him.

"If you're about to confess your endless, undying love for me, maybe I should tell you some of my theories about reproduction," she said jokingly.

Leonidas gave a long suffering roll of his eyes.

"Just listen to me, would you," he said frustratedly, then fixed her with an even, earnest look.

"Whatever the reason they chose you doesn't matter," he continued. "You  are  the one they chose. The one person who, in the right place at the right time, can make all the difference."

He paused for a moment, never once looking away as he gave his words time to sink in, and when he continued, his voice rang with as firm a level of conviction as she had ever heard from anyone.

"You, Callisto," he said, "are capable of being so much more than you are now, but first you need to understand something."

Callisto stared back at him steadily.

"And what, exactly, would that be," she replied, still not able to keep all the snark out of her tone.

Leonidas took a deep breath, as if summoning up all his strength before continuing.

"You need to understand that the world isn't fair," he said.

"That's it?" Callisto replied, arching both her eyebrows at him in mild disappointment. "That's your big advice?"

"I'm not done yet!" Leonidas snapped back at her irritably. "By all the gods on Olympus, you can just be so..." He trailed off with a frustrated grunt then took another deep calming breath.

"Like I said, the world isn't fair," he began again, "That's why Ithius did what he did. He's trapped between a rock and a hard place, trying to defend his people the only way he knows how, the exact same way I'm trying to defend mine."

"So you want me to forgive him?" Callisto said, already knowing she would never be able to. Even the mere thought of Ithius was now enough to get her pulse racing and her blood boiling.

"No," Leonidas said, shaking his head again as he did so. "No I don't. What I'm trying to say, very inelegantly I might add, is that if you're waiting for the world to start making sense; if you're waiting for there to be some kind of grand karmic justice behind it all that will suddenly render everything and anything you did that bit less terrible, so that it no longer haunts you when you try and sleep at night, well then, you're going to be waiting a very long time."

Callisto could feel an ache beginning to throb dully in the back of her throat as he spoke, and she sniffed slightly, trying hard to make it go away.

"Peace, Callisto, real peace, isn't out here," he said gesturing to the courtyard around them and the world beyond. "It's not beyond those mountains, or waiting for you in some distant far away place. It's not in my ancestor's tomb, or in saving me. It's not even in defeating this Cronus that you seem hellbent on doing, or waiting for you in Elysium like the gods promised you."

He reached out gently toward her and she did not shy away as she felt his finger tap lightly against her temple.

"Real peace is in here," he said softly, then tapped the same finger against her breast bone, right above her heart.

"And in here," he finished.

With those final words, he straightened and looked back across the courtyard toward Sentos. The Spartan Lieutenant looked back at him expectantly.

"Sentos!" Leonidas called to him, "have my horse brought out to me, and fetch me a quill and parchment. There's something I must write before we go."

The other man nodded and hurried off to carry out his King's commands.

Callisto, meanwhile stood silently, trying to process what it was he had just said. Behind her, she could hear the Spartans stirring in anticipation as it became clear the time for their departure was almost at hand. The sounds of rattling armour, and grunts of effort as swords, spears and shields were hefted, filled the air, followed by the low resounding rumble of three hundred pairs of feet moving quickly into formation.

"Remember what I said," Leonidas nodded to Callisto as a Helot trotted his mount over to him, and he clambered skillfully up into the saddle. "It's a hard lesson to learn, but one that I think will benefit you no end if you do."

Callisto swallowed, feeling the painful lump of misery in her throat slide down and take root somewhere in her gut where it proceeded to eat away at her, until all that was left was the same terrible sense of hollowness that had dogged her ever since she had stood alone in that chamber, listening to Xena's anguished cries at the death of her son.

She did not want to lose him. She realised that now; did not want to lose Leonidas, or anyone else like him, ever again.

She took a long, deep breath and tilted her head back to look him square in the eye.

"I'll find the tomb," she said firmly, trying to fend off the empty hopelessness building inside her. "I'll find it and I'll prove that yours is the right to rule. I'll march the whole Spartan army down to Thermopylae personally if I have to, but I will be there, and I will make sure you come back here alive."

Leonidas smiled at her sadly from his saddle.

"One other piece of advice for you then," he said. "Don't make a promise when you know you can't keep it."

With that he turned to face the column of Spartans that already stood assembled behind Callisto in a set of thirty rows, each one some ten men abreast.

"Spartans!" He yelled back down the line. "Steel yourselves and prepare to march. It is very likely that this will be our last time to war, our last time to step outside these walls to fight for something greater than ourselves. We may never see our homes again, our families or our friends. I hope you've said whatever goodbyes you felt were necessary."

As he spoke, his eyes wandered up over the walls of the palace, and Callisto thought she caught him glancing up into the foot hills that the Inner City sprawled across, and on toward the temple of Ares in the distance. Then, suddenly, his eyes were back on her again, a deep rooted look of regret filling them.

"I, for one, did not know how," he finished quietly, almost to himself in fact, before straightening and looking back to his men.

"READY! MARCH!" he bellowed at the top of his lungs, and behind him, the three hundred Spartans began to move forward in perfect lockstep, Sentos striding proudly at their head. They marched in silence at first, the only sound the drumming of feet and the rattle of armour, then somewhere, back around the middle of the column, one man began to sing. The notes were flat and tuneless, the rhythm simple and matched to their footfalls, but before long it had spread through the entire column and soon every single man was chanting it.

"As long as you live, shine,
Let nothing grieve you beyond measure.
For your life is short,
and time will claim its toll."

Callisto nearly broke when she heard the words again, that same song, echoing at her like a ghost out of the past.

Leonidas watched them, his expression one of profound pride as the last of them marched past, leaving he and Callisto alone again. He looked at her briefly one last time, opening his mouth as if to say something, but the words died on his lips and he closed it again. Instead, he simply gave her a brief respectful nod, then wheeled his horse about and began to ride off after the column.

Callisto stood in silence for a while as she watched them move off up the boulevard she herself had ridden down less than an hour before. Then she heard them, the footsteps at her back as Ithius and Athelis approached her from the rear.

Athelis drew to a stop a few paces back from her, keeping a respectful distance that surprised her with its empathy. It was the last thing she would have expected from him, given how little he and Leonidas had got on. Ithius, on the other hand, showed no such thoughtfulness. Instead he moved up to stand by her side, and Callisto felt the fury inside her flare, biting and hot.

"What do you want?" she demanded angrily.

"I just wanted to say, I'm so..." he began but Callisto held up a hand to cut him off.

"Don't!" she snapped. "Don't you dare try and tell me you're sorry."

Ithius let out a long low breath.

"I just thought that we should talk," he said quietly as the two of them watched Leonidas and his men disappear around the corner at the end of the boulevard. "That you might give me the chance to let you know why I did what it was I did. Leonidas was my friend and I..."

Callisto rounded on him sharply, taking some small measure of satisfaction when she saw the livid bruise already spreading across his cheek from her earlier punch, and his split lip as a result of her kneeing him in the face.

"Friend?" she laughed cruelly, and as she continued to speak, the pitch of her voice rose steadily in strength and intensity. "Friend!? Let me tell you what I know about friendship Ithius. I've never really had friends, but I've known plenty of people who did. Two of them in particular stand out. I used to like to torture them, torment them even. I'd cause them pain however and whenever I could, but no matter how hard I tried, I could never drive a wedge between them, never cut that chord of friendship that tied the one to the other."

She took a deep breath before continuing.

"Those two people had a bond Ithius, a connection, that the likes of me or you can never really understand. They would never have done to each other what you just did to him. You were never his friend; just another hanger on, another opportunist waiting to use him however you could!"

Ithius did not appear to know what to say. He simply stood there dumbfounded, his eyes wide with shock. Callisto could not even allow herself a small mental cheer at her victory over him. The hollowness inside her had grown too great. Instead, she turned away as she finished, her jaw snapping tightly shut as she stared back off up the now empty boulevard.

"I... uh... I suppose deserved that," he managed finally.

Callisto rolled her eyes and rounded on him again unable to keep her anger in check anymore.

"You should just stop talking!" She spat at him. "You haven't had even half of what you deserve! Well, let me tell you something, Ithius. Let me give you a little warning. I meant what I said before. If I ever see you again, if I so much as lay eyes on you, I will cut out your heart and feed it to the crows!"

She gave a small shrug.

"It's still not the full extent of the suffering you have owing to you, but it's a start at least."

Suddenly, and unexpectedly, she span on her heel and turned to face Athelis.

"Are you ready to leave?" she said, her tone clipped and brooking no nonsense.

"What I've been waiting all this time for," Athelis replied with a casual nod.

"Okay then, let's go," She gestured down the boulevard and out to the rolling foothills that surrounded the city beyond. "We've wasted quite enough time here. Its time we were getting back to work."

She glanced at Ithius out of the corner of her eye as she spoke. He did not even look back at her, instead turning and walking slowly back over toward Drogo and Trellus across the courtyard.

"We've got a King to save after all," she said.

Chapter Seventeen: Shatter Point

The first bright rays of daylight were beginning to filter in through the windows of the second story as Pelion entered the temple's main altar chamber. A thin sheen of smoke was still hanging in the air after the fire of the night before, and the sun light made it all the more visible. It drifted steadily on the faint through draft, marking the already defaced statuary and wall hangings still further with great streaks of soot and ash.

Pelion hardly even noticed. His attention was focused almost solely on the figure at the other end of the room. Mortius was kneeling before the altar, his head bowed toward the ground, his hands pressed flat across the cold stone surface.

As he moved across the chamber, Pelion made no effort to hide his approach. He saw no reason to, and even coughed lightly as he drew near, the ever present smoke tickling irritatingly at the back of his throat.

At the corner of his peripheral vision, he noticed the shadows flicker and shift in that strange manner they had whenever Mortius was nearby. Even with everything Pelion had seen in his life, it still managed to unnerve him. Where had such a power come from, and how had Mortius come to possess it?

Despite Pelion's sudden interruption, Mortius seemed as calm as ever, but it did not take Pelion long to catch sight of the dismembered remains of the temples statue to Artemis. They had previously been piled high on the altar, but were now scattered across the chamber floor, seemingly swept aside in a moment of pure fury and frustration.

The old priest frowned. Who could have been responsible? None of the other Brothers would dare approach the altar, which just left Mortius himself. Could he really have been responsible? If so, it would be the first sign of overt emotion he had seen from the dour, hooded man, and if it truly was the case, then it begged the question, what had happened that could so frustrate his Lord's soul?

He was distracted from his line of thought when he noticed Mortius' head tilt slightly, and then somewhere, at the edge of sensation, he felt a strange pressure weighing in upon him, as if he were suddenly deep underwater. Until Cronus had begun to speak with him, he had never noticed it before, but now he recognised it as a clear sign that Cronus was reaching out to them across the weakened barrier, the sheer force of his will like a great ocean pressing in hard and unrelenting against the very fabric of reality.

Desperately he strained with all his senses in an attempt to overhear what was passing between his Lord and Mortius, but as always, their conversation proved to be frustratingly just beyond his reach. Whatever his Lord wished to communicate, he clearly intended it to be for Mortius alone.

Giving up, Pelion instead stood silently, waiting. To interrupt now would be a grave error in judgement, and would most likely show a lack of proper deference before his Lord.

Suddenly, Mortius' head straightened, but tellingly, the pressure sweeping in waves inside Pelion's skull did not. His Lord was still present, worming through the gaps between the worlds of the living and the dead. They were too small for him to pass through at present, but in time, and with the aid of his Followers, they would be forced wide. That only left the question of the vessel, but Pelion was content to wait for his Lord's final judgement on that front.

"You would speak with me?" Mortius said, his voice as flat and emotionless as ever.

Pelion glanced at the remains of the statue, then, somewhere in the back of his mind, he felt it growing, that strange whispering sensation that made the space between his temples ache.

" Such a specimen, is he not my Faith."  came the voice of his Lord, obviously referring to Mortius.  "A truly ferocious avatar of my retribution, ready to be unleashed upon my command. But still, one is not enough... There must be others! Yes! Others!"

Pelion did his best not to react to the voice. To the best of his knowledge, Mortius was not aware that Cronus could speak directly to him, and he was in no rush to change that fact. While it remained so, it gave him an advantage over Mortius that, no matter how slight, he planned to make use of in the future. For Cronus' part, the ancient Titan seemed to delight in the deception, although Pelion himself had still not quite figured out why such deception was necessary in the first place.

"I would indeed," he nodded in reply to Mortius' earlier question, and began to ascend the steps, his long staff clacking loudly against the stone in the otherwise silent altar chamber. "All went well at the Temple of Ares I trust."

"After a fashion," Mortius replied.

Pelion's eyes narrowed at that. Such caginess was not normally Mortius' style.

"The Oracle is dead then?" He asked, making sure to watch the other man's reaction carefully.

"She is," Mortius replied, still not turning around.

Pelion felt a satisfied smile begin to creep across his face. This was good news. Oracles were imbued with a direct link to the gods, and as such, their souls made fine fodder for the Followers' plan, each one to die providing another hefty blow to the barrier that could only hasten its fall.

"And Callisto?" He asked, trying hard to keep the trepidation he was feeling out of his voice. Their Lord wanted Callisto spared, and Pelion was inclined to agree. Mortius, on the other hand, seemed eager to be rid of her. He saw her only as a threat, and not the weapon she could so easily be forged into.

Inside his head, the pounding ache grew heavier, and a cold sweat began to stain the back of Pelion's neck as his Lord spoke to him. The whispered words carried the same sheer force as a hammer blow to an anvil.

" He has failed!"  Cronus crowed victoriously, and Pelion had to try hard not breathe a sigh of relief. If it was indeed true, it would certainly explain Mortius' frustration. It would mark the second time Callisto had escaped his clutches, and Mortius was not the type to accept failure readily, especially his own.

" The woman still lives!"  His Lord continued excitedly.  "Her thoughts dwell upon me even now! They shine so brightly in the firmament, like blazing suns, so full of sweet, succulent hatred. She knows nothing of me save my name, and yet the slightest thought of me makes her seethe with rage. It carves away at her, hollows her out with every blow her spirit is dealt! You must make her ours my Faith, in one way or another! She must be made ready, as he has been! She  must  be! We have the tools now. All is ready! You need only the will to use them!"

In front of Pelion, Mortius straightened slightly, drawing himself up to his full height, which was, admittedly, both impressive and intimidating in equal measure. As he straightened, the shadows seemed to rush in on him from all sides, as if some great force had been holding them back. When they reached him, each shadow clawed its way desperately over his robes, seeming to leech at the colour until even the light could not touch them.

"Callisto was already gone when I arrived," the dour figure said, "but she has not escaped me yet. She will be tended to in due time, when my agents locate her again. Until then, there are other matters that must be taken care of."

"Everything is in place then?" Pelion said eagerly. Much as he and Mortius did not see eye to eye on some matters, he had to admire the Soul's overall plan. What came next would be the critical juncture of all their efforts, the pivotal moment around which Cronus' freedom could very well hinge. They could not afford for it to not be successful.

Mortius nodded again.

"Leonidas is departing the city as we speak, the Persians march, and the Helots are stepping neatly into position. All is as it should be. The hammer is prepared to fall. We need only ensure that when it does, it falls in the right place."

" Overconfidence!"  Cronus hissed in barely restrained annoyance.  "It ever was his greatest flaw, even before he came into my service. He has not thought of everything my Faith. Those arrayed against us make plans and schemes as we speak. All could yet come to ruin!"

"And you are certain nothing can go wrong?" Pelion said, reaching up to stroke a hand thoughtfully across his chin. It was often difficult to put the information his Lord gave him to good use without revealing how he knew it, and even more difficult to understand why his Lord often seemed to be giving him instructions that ran completely contrary to whatever it was Mortius was doing at the time. Was Mortius truly disobeying their Lord, or was there some greater purpose at work? In truth, he had no idea, but then, nor was it really that important. His Lord had spoken to him, and in the end, that was all that really mattered.

"Nothing," Mortius answered his question evenly, not even the smallest shred of doubt evident in his tone. "Every last possibility has been accounted for."

" The Agiad line!"  Cronus' angered whisper seemed to spit and bite inside Pelion's consciousness.  "The tomb could undo it all! The war must not be stopped! Not yet! Not until the rest is prepared! They are going there now; the woman and the mercenary!"

The voice fell silent for a moment, and Pelion was about to open his mouth to speak again, when suddenly, it returned, like a crashing wave that try as he might, Pelion could not withstand.

" THEY ARE CLOSE!"  His Lord's voice echoed across his mind in a silent roar.  "The little fat man... he thinks of me too. I look into his thoughts and feel the shivers run down his spine. He fears us, fears me! There is danger my Faith; it stalks close at hand! The tomb is uncovered, and he draws closer to the truth beyond that with each passing moment. He must be stopped. Too soon... too soon..."

Slowly the voice began to trail off into silence, and as it did so, the aching pressure inside his skull slowly began to recede too. Eventually, it had departed so completely that he felt both relieved, and yet strangely empty at the same time. It was as if, when his Lord spoke to him, a part of him he had not known was missing was suddenly made whole again, and the aching hollowness left behind afterward was far worse than the pain of his Lord's powerful embrace.

He did his best to shrug off the sudden abandonment, and instead tried to concentrate on his Lord's final words. 'The little fat man'? 'The tomb is uncovered'? For a moment none of it really registered with him, as he tried instead to find his concentration again, then suddenly, and with great alarm, it all slid into place with the surety of a sword being returned to its scabbard.

"Monocles," he muttered to himself, so softly that Mortius did not even seem to notice. The old Priest began to descend the steps hurriedly, his mind turning as he did so.

He had dispatched Perites and a few other Followers to ensure the fat little Athenian would never reach the city, mainly because Mortius' agents had informed them of Leonidas' plan to uncover the location of Lycurgus' tomb. At the time it had seemed prudent to have him killed in order to ensure that their supply of Pneuma remained undiscovered, and as such undisturbed. Since coming to the city though, he had proved much less capable than they had feared, and the tomb's location had continued to remain successfully hidden. Pelion had even gone to the lengths of ensuring that certain key documents that Monocles had been searching for in his quest for the location of the tomb would be 'misplaced', all in an effort to slow the search even further.

"I fear that we may have overlooked something," he said as he reached the bottom of the steps. Turning back to regard Mortius, he was completely surprised to see that the other man had not moved a muscle, and still remained stock still, watching him steadily from beneath that permanently shadowed hood.

"Explain," Mortius said simply.

"The historian, the one who arrived here with Callisto, the one we tried to kill and failed."

Mortius nodded,

"I do recall," he said.

"What if he were to uncover the location of the tomb?" Pelion continued, doing his best to make it seem as if the idea were just now occurring to him. "What if he already has, and Callisto is on her way there now to foil us? That tomb has been a useful tool to us, but it could also wind up being our undoing. It can prove Leonidas' lineage and give him the legal right to command the whole Spartan army. Such a sea change in the politics of this city could severely hamper our plans."

Mortius shook his head.

"It's too late," he said. "Leonidas has already departed for Thermopylae. The war against the Persians can no longer be stopped."

"True," Pelion nodded in agreement. "But if he  were  to gain control of the army, the war could be won by the Spartans before it has achieved what we need it to, and that could very easily damage your man's efforts..."

He gave Mortius a long purposeful look.

"...possibly even rendering them worthless," he continued, his voice low and worried now. "Such a failure would be a grievous blow to our efforts. It could even leave us without a chosen Strength, and our Lord trapped and tortured in Tartarus for another thousand years."

That gave Mortius pause. Slowly, but with that same assured, snake like grace he always possessed, he descended the steps until he was standing face to face with Pelion.

"You think the risk is that great?" he said, as if seriously considering Pelion's words for the first time. "You really think that someone like this Athenian, so small, so inconsequential, could prove to be our ultimate undoing?"

Pelion nodded.

"I do," he said sincerely. "I truly do."

Mortius regarded him for a moment longer, then stepped past him, beginning to stride off into the shadows. As he walked, he cast a glance back over his shoulder toward Pelion.

"Then it would appear it's time for you to get your hands dirty at long last," he said. "I have other business to attend to."

*****

The trail leading around the hillside and out onto the mustering fields was well trodden, but uneven, causing the wheels of Ithius' clunky old wagon to creak loudly as they hit each unexpected dip, or hump in the road. Ithius, for his part, did his best to keep comfortable and ignore the protesting whinnies from his cart horses as they were forced to drag the wagon over what he could only imagine must have been the lumpiest road in all of Greece.

Behind him in the wagon, Drogo and Trellus both gave a sharp intake of breath as they rounded the hillside and caught their first glimpses of what awaited them on the mustering fields beyond. The fields themselves were pretty much as the name implied; a large flat plain of short grass spotted with the occasional wild flower. A number of bare mud tracks, laid down by decade upon decade of foot traffic, criss-crossed the area in a network of thin brown lines.

At the center, of it all stood a large stone dais. It was constructed from ancient, rough cut slabs of granite, weathered down over centuries of exposure to the elements, and now shot through with dashes of green, thanks to the many species of moss, lichen and weed that had begun to grow across it. At equidistant points around its circumference, four pillars had been erected. Made of the same granite as the dais itself, they stood upright, but did not support anything. Drilled into their surfaces were rusted iron brackets upon which torches could be mounted night time ceremonies, but beyond that, the pillars seemed to serve little other purpose.

It was not the sight of the fields themselves that had given Ithius' companions pause however. Instead, it was what now filled them. Crowds of Helots stood before them, milling about the mud trails and plains of grass with a quiet air of expectation about them as they waited, somewhat impatiently, for their freedom to be granted.

It was the sheer number of them that made Ithius' breath catch in his throat. Like Trellus and Drogo, he had been to the mustering fields before, several times in fact, but each time it had been for the mustering of relatively small Helot units being readied to march to war alongside the Spartan army. The last time he had come here had been following Marathon. He and some two thousand other Helots, including Trellus, Drogo and Soriacles, had all come to receive their freedoms as a reward for their valiant service. Even with two thousand men present, the mustering fields had not stood even a quarter full. Now they appeared fit to bursting with many more thousands of Helots scattered across them in disorganised clumps and gatherings.

He frowned as he took better stock of the sight before him. All about the field, he could see the familiar blue cloaked forms of Demosthenes' Spartan forces. The King must have had almost every last one of his men on the fields judging by the sheer number of them, and unlike the Helots, they were not spread unevenly about the place. Instead, they were arrayed around the periphery with carefully considered precision, and among the Helots stood several more smaller gatherings too, each one tightly knit and motionless, despite the sea of shifting bodies around them.

Ithius' frown deepened.

"Something troubling you?" Drogo asked, spotting his expression for the first time.

"They're all armed," Ithius said, a knot of tension creeping into his tone as he nodded toward the Spartans.

Drogo seemed to consider that for a moment before replying.

"After the riots yesterday, and with so many of our people gathered together now in one place, I suppose you can hardly blame them for being cautious," he said with a shrug.

Ithius tapped the reins he held thoughtfully with his index finger, then nodded.

"I suppose you're right," he sighed, but that tiny creeping doubt in the back of his mind refused to go away.

With a final protesting groan, he reined in his horses at the edge of the crowd of people, Trellus and Drogo wasting no time in dismounting and moving out to mingle with their fellows. Ithius was less eager. Instead he remained seated for a moment, watching the crowd warily. How many of his people must have come here from the city? With the numbers gathered, it was surely not every Helot in Sparta standing before him, but it must have been a sizeable portion of the overall Helot population nevertheless. Had they been in the city, they would have been everywhere, spread hither and thither through streets and houses, working in the taverns, markets and palaces. Now, here they all were, gathered closely together as he had never seen them before.

Something about that thought made Ithius feel uneasy.

Without really thinking about it, he leaned forward, feeling beneath his wagon's seat and letting out a small sigh of relief as his fingers made contact with the boiled leather scabbard that held his sword. He had not really known why he had brought it, but now that he was here, he felt all the better for having it with him. Retrieving the weapon from where it lay, he placed it across his back, and fastened the leather harness that would hold it there across his chest. Just having it close at hand gave him some small measure of comfort, and he wasted no more time in clambering down from the wagon and mingling with the crowd.

He was moderately surprised at how many people he recognised as he passed through the mass of Helots. Of course he knew a great many of his people. He could not immediately remember all their names, but still, the sheer number of familiar faces scattered all about him was at once heartening and at the same time, deeply troubling. Something was not right about this, and the more he saw, the more he was convinced of it.

He had to find Drogo and Trellus, but what would he say when he did? That they must stop this now? Stop his people receiving the freedom so many of them had spent a lifetime waiting for, all because he had developed a case of eleventh hour jitters? He smiled ruefully to himself and wondered if this was how a groom felt on the morning of his wedding day.

Suddenly, there was a light tap on his shoulder, and Ithius span rapidly, his every sense alert, only to cause the smaller man behind him to start suddenly.

"Forgive me, Ithius," the man said. "I did not mean to startle you."

He had a thin face, but with widely spaced eyes that made him somewhat resemble a fish. His frame was slim, and the lack of real muscle on him suggested a household worker rather than a rough and tumble labourer like Trellus. Though Ithius could not place the man's name, something about him seemed vaguely familiar.

"I'm sorry too," Ithius replied "I'm a little on edge at the moment,"

"And understandably so," the smaller man replied. "So many people together in one place always makes me feel tense as well. My master's banquets are particularly troublesome. He always invites so many people."

Ithius nodded politely.

"And your master would be?"

The smaller man smiled with sudden understanding.

"I see," he said, "you don't recognise me then. I suppose I can hardly blame you. I was only kitchen staff when you received your freedom last year. I am one of King Leonidas' house Helots."

Suddenly a wave of recognition flooded over Ithius.

"Of course!" he smiled warmly. "Pentelos! Double the apologies my friend! I should have recognised you."

The smaller man smiled back and shrugged with a 'what can you do' expression on his face.

"It's quite alright," he said. "I doubt I would remember me either."

Ithius chuckled lightly and for a moment felt the tense knot of worry tied at the base of his spine loosen slightly.

"A grim day for those of us who serve Leonidas," Pentelos said, his face straightening as he looked about him at the crowd. "He was always fair handed and even tempered. A fine man and a King and master to be proud of."

Ithius swallowed and nodded, feeling a queasy sensation of creeping guilt in the pit of his stomach. He had never felt more ashamed than he had this morning when trying to tell Leonidas of the choice he had been forced to make. He could still remember Callisto's expression as the truth of what was happening had finally dawned on her. He had thought she was going to gut him there and then, and he still half expected her to be lurking in the crowd somewhere with a dagger ready, fully prepared to make good on that final vicious promise to him.

"A dark day indeed," he agreed morosely. "I, for one, am sorry for the part I had to play in it."

"None of us blame you," Pentelos replied glancing nervously about himself in a manner that surprised Ithius. What did he have to be nervous about? "You did what you felt was right, for the good of all of us."

"And betrayed my oldest friend," Ithius replied, then muttered softly to himself; "My best friend."

Pentelos nodded.

"Such is the way for those who must lead," he said, glancing about warily in the same manner as before. Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, he reached out, taking Ithius' hand in his own and pressing something secretively into his palm.

"King Leonidas understood that," he said quietly, then turned and vanished quickly into the crowd before Ithius could say anything else.

He stood, quiet and confused for a moment, staring after the strange little man. What had he meant when he said that Leonidas understood? Slowly, he looked down at his hand and what exactly it was Pentelos had passed to him.

It was a small scrap of papyrus, folded into even quarters, and crumpled from having been carried in a clenched fist.

Unconsciously, he glanced suspiciously from left to right, as Pentelos had done moments before, then caught himself doing it and smiled ruefully. He was beginning to jump at shadows. With a deep breath, he reached down with his free hand and unfolded the scrap of parchment.

Leonidas' hand writing stared back at him. That same feeling of guilt from earlier churned inside his gut, and as he began to read, he felt a hard lump of sorrow form deep in his chest.

'To my dearest friend,'  the letter began.

'First, I feel I must offer my apologies for Callisto. She is passionate, and not particularly good at dealing with loss, as I am only just coming to understand.'

"Could've fooled me," Ithius muttered to himself, rubbing gently at the livid bruise on his cheek before continuing on.

'I would say not to worry over much about her; that what she said and did was merely in the heat of the moment and that deep down she has a good heart. Ultimately though, I think we are both well aware that that is far from the truth. Her past speaks to quite the contrary. In any event, I would let you know, by means of this missive as the only avenue now left open to me, that I bear you no similar ill will. The choice you made was for the good of your people as you understood it. After everything my father taught us both growing up together, I would have been disappointed in you had you put our friendship first.'

Ithius swallowed deeply as he continued to read.

'Make no mistake though my friend, your choice has most likely led to my demise. While I understand your reasons for having made it, I feel it important to inform you that you may have been misled. What is written herein, I could not say in person, as I am only now beginning to fully understand the depths of conspiracy within our own city. I have been to consult with an old acquaintance from our childhood..."

"Miranda," Ithius breathed softly, wondering what the Oracle had had to say about everything taking place in Sparta.

'...and she, along with Callisto, has convinced me, beyond a shadow of doubt, of a very real threat far beyond that posed to us by the Persians and Xerxes. There is a third force at work in all this; an ancient enemy of the Gods playing us all off against one another, and all toward a goal that is too terrible to imagine. It is for this reason that Callisto has come to us. She has been set against this force by Zeus himself...'

Ithius' eyes widened as he read that. Could it really be true? It sounded preposterous by any measure of sanity, but Leonidas was not one prone to wild flights of fancy. If he believed in this threat, then it must be something worthy of concern. Ithius had had his own suspicions of course. He and Callisto had spoken of as much when she had raised her doubts about the Followers and their priest Pelion, but to have it confirmed by Leonidas too...

He gritted his teeth and continued to read.

'...I implore you Ithius, to watch out for her on her mission. The Gods have set her to this task alone, and I fear she is ill equipped to deal with the pressures being placed on her. She is a woman lost on a knife edge, and my duty to Sparta carries me away to a place from where I doubt I will be able to offer such assistance as she needs. I ask you now, not as your King, but as the friend of your childhood, to act in my stead and to help her find her way again. Peace has never been an easy path to tread – for any of us it would seem – but for her, I think it will be most difficult of all. The results though, should she achieve it, could very well be glorious.

Your friend,

Leonidas'

Ithius puffed out his cheeks then let out a long low exhalation. He was not entirely sure what to make of the letter. Was Leonidas right? Was Callisto really some kind of weapon sent down by the Gods to do battle with some ancient enemy? If so, what did any of this have to do with the Followers and Sparta?

And were the Helots all tied up in it too?

A cold sense of dread began to creep up his spine as he reread the letter, hoping that he had missed something, some important detail that would make everything that bit clearer. There was nothing though. He looked up suddenly as a horrible thought began to occur to him, but before it could take full form, he caught sight of Drogo and Trellus emerging from the crowd of people.

"There you are!" Drogo announced.

"We were beginning to think we'd lost you in all of this," he continued, and gestured sweepingly to the milling mass of Helots all about them as he did so.

"I'm sorry," Ithius said, hurriedly crumpling the note and shoving it into the folds of his travelling cloak as surreptitiously as he could manage. "I was delayed by an old friend."

"Nothing serious I trust?" Trellus asked, a note of genuine concern in his voice.

"I'm not sure," Ithius replied, letting his eyes scan the crowd for anything amiss, before turning back to Drogo.

"Does nothing about any of this strike you as wrong?"

"Wrong?" Trellus laughed. "What could be wrong? We've worked toward this for generations, Ithius, and now, finally, after all that work and sacrifice, freedom is within our grasp."

"And that's just it," Ithius replied. "Why now? Why at this time, right when they need our strength at their side the most, would they give us a choice in the matter?"

"Because we did not give  them  one," Trellus replied firmly. "Even Sparta cannot fight a war on two fronts, and they would have exactly that if they had not given us what we demanded."

Slowly, the nebulous concerns Ithius had begun to have earlier returned and started to coalesce steadily at the corners of his mind, only to finally cohere into a horrifying vision of what was awaiting them.

"What kind of a war would we have given them?" he said slowly, hoping against hope that he was wrong.

Trellus' eyes narrowed in confusion.

"What?" he said, seemingly taken aback by Ithius' question.

"The Spartans are legends on the open field," Ithius began. "It takes massively superior numbers to best them, and cavalry wouldn't go amiss either."

"We have the numbers..." Trellus began in protest.

"...But not the training, nor the majority of us the skill at arms," Ithius replied, cutting off the other man's argument before he could even continue to make it. They did not have time to be debating this. If he was right then they were all in grave danger. "On an open battlefield, we could never hope to defeat them."

"We would not need to have met them out in the open," Trellus said shaking his head. "They're centralised, we are not. We have the Outer City, and the surrounding territories. Our numbers and dispersal are such that we could have hit them in a dozen different locations at once. Even the great Spartan army cannot be in two places at the same time."

Ithius nodded.

"Exactly," he said, motioning to the crowd around them. "But look around you now, and tell me what you see."

Trellus glanced about, clearly not keeping up.

"Our people," he said, his brow still furrowed in confusion. "All of them gathered as one, in solidarity for our cause..."

Next to him, a look of growing discomfort had begun to form on Drogo's face, only to now switch to one of outright shock as he latched on to what Ithius was driving at.

"...and all in one place," he finished on Trellus' behalf, glancing nervously at the other Helot as he did so. The big man's face went white as fresh fallen snow as Drogo spoke.

"Like fish in a barrel," Ithius said with a nod. "This is a trap, and we've walked right into it."

"You can't be serious," Trellus said. "The Spartans would never..."

"Who knows what they might do pushed hard enough," Ithius snapped angrily back at him. "We have to get everyone out of here, and we have to do it now before its..."

A deep, sonorous horn blast echoed loudly out over the fields, causing all heads to turn as one to turn toward the dais

"HELOTS OF SPARTA! Your attention if I may be so bold!"

Ithius straightened, looking out across the sea of heads in front of him toward the stone dais, and cursed softly at what he saw.

"...too late," he finished softly.

The Ephors had arrived on the dais, along with Demosthenes and a small group of his trusted lieutenants standing close at hand as if on guard. Nestus had stepped clear of the group, and was now standing with his arms outstretched in a gesture of magnanimity as his powerful resonant voice carried over crowds of people before him.

"Helots of Sparta!" he announced again, somewhat softer this time as the crowd began to pay more attention to him. "We, the Ephors, honoured representatives of the Spartan people, are proud to stand before you on this, a most auspicious of days," he began.

A small ripple of excited anticipation ran through the crowd as he spoke. It was rare for the Ephors to speak publicly, and almost unheard of for them to address the Helots so directly. Ithius had to hand it to the old man; he knew exactly how to capture people's attention.

"As custodians of these lands, we, the First Citizens of Sparta, have long held your people under our stewardship," Nestus said grandly. "As we have protected these lands, so too have we protected you, and watched over you as your people have grown..."

The crowd shifted uneasily at that, and Ithius could tell that they were not sure whether to be humbled by the presence of the Ephors, or insulted by Nestus' recasting of them as sheltered children rather than the owned slaves they actually were. He imagined that the Ephors had probably intended for both to be true.

"Pompous ass," he heard Trellus mutter beside him.

"...And grow you have," Nestus continued, "into a fine people! A strong, proud people, straight backed and forthright! You have grown beyond the need for our stewardship, the need for our protection."

He paused to clear his throat for effect, and when he spoke again, his voice was filled with a sense of pride, that no matter how affected, still managed to stir his audience.

"Countless times, you have proven your worth upon the battlefield and your wisdom in council. As reward then, it is my sincerest honour, on behalf of all free thinking Spartans, to grant to all of you present here, on this hallowed ground of ancient rite and ritual, that self same honour."

His voice began to rise in intensity and conviction as he continued, the Helots standing before him now completely enraptured.

"But know this my friends! Freedom is not something you are born to! It is something that must be earned and fought for every single day. Today The Helots have finally proven they are capable of taking on that struggle, but it is a struggle that is never ending. We, the First Citizens of Sparta, are convinced it is a struggle you are capable of making, and so hence forth, let it be known that all Helots stand alongside us as free citizens of Sparta!"

As he finished, his voice rose to the level of a triumphant shout that made the crowd erupt in cheers. Even men Ithius recognised as die hards in their stance against the Spartans had their hands raised in applause. Nestus accepted it all with great grace, bowing deep and low as shouted cries of gratitude and pledges of unswerving loyalty were called up from all about him. Ithius knew that many of them were spoken only in the heat of the moment, and that come the next day, old enmities would begin to fester once more. Still, Nestus had spoken well, if untruthfully. For now his people were simply basking in the light of their newly awarded freedom.

Carefully, he turned on the spot, surveying the many Spartan soldiers that still surrounded them all. So far none of them had moved. Indeed, most seemed relaxed now that Nestus had made his speech and the air of tension he had been sensing seemed to be slowly easing away, leaving only a sense of delighted exultation in its wake.

Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe there truly was nothing to fear here, and he, Leonidas and Callisto had simply been jumping at shadows. He turned to regard Drogo and Trellus, both of whom wore quite different expressions to on another. Drogo seemed as taken aback by the seeming honesty of the whole affair as Ithius, and he glanced at the other man warily at out of the corner of his eye. Ithius could only shrug in return. Trellus simply grinned at them both victoriously, and Ithius found himself wishing he could share in the other man's sense of jubilation, but instead, all he could think of was Leonidas. Unconsciously, he fingered the note through the folds of his travelling cloak, the crumpled papyrus fuelling his doubts all over again. Even with all the delighted people surrounding him and the joyous atmosphere upon the air, he still could not shake that gnawing sensation eating away at the back of his mind that this was all wrong somehow.

For a moment he simply watched those people all about him, then finally, he turned on his heel and began to make his way back through the crowd toward his wagon, nodding only briefly to Trellus and Drogo as he passed them. Drogo nodded in return but Trellus had already turned away and was delivering hearty congratulations to those around him. Ithius just wanted to be away from here, away from all the smiling faces and the enthusiastic back slapping. The cost for this moment had been high for him.

Too high maybe.

As he began to make his way back through the crowd, he wondered if perhaps it was his own sense of guilt that had made him so suspicious of the Ephors' offer. Could he really just be torturing himself as a punishment for his betrayal of Leonidas without even realising it? Was he really that much of a mess inside? He found himself wondering how much guilt Callisto truly felt about all the terrible things she had done. He knew she felt it. He had seen it behind her eyes, even when they were at their most fierce and dangerous. In truth though, he was not really sure how much she even understood the emotion, or how much she even understood herself come to think of it. When she spoke, she certainly did not seem particularly concerned about her past actions. Was she really that callous or was it all just a mask? He knew one thing for certain. However much she claimed to hate him, or to hate Xena, or all the other numerous people she deemed to have wronged her, the person she hated most was herself.

He was almost back at his wagon when the crowd began to fall silent once more.

Frowning slightly, and wondering what it was that could silence so many of his people without so much as a crossed word or angered shout, he turned and began to make his way back through the crowd.

On the dais, much to his surprise, Demosthenes had stepped forward to speak.

"Fellow Spartans," he called out over the crowd, "if Spartans you can truly be said to be..."

Ithius felt his muscles tense and his heart skip a beat at the tone of Demosthenes' voice. There was no note of congratulation in it, no happiness on behalf of the celebrating Helots. Instead, it carried only derision and disgust.

"...I am afraid it is my solemn duty to interrupt these festivities," he continued, and Nestus turned to him suddenly, a look of confusion writ large across his face.

"Demosthenes," he said, the same confusion evident on his face now echoing in his tone as well. "Would you care to explain exactly what it is that you think you're doing."

Demosthenes turned to the Ephor and gave a respectful nod of his head.

"Of course," he said coldly. "I am doing my duty. As a King of Sparta, it is among my responsibilities to ensure that our city's laws are enforced, and that those who breach them are punished."

Nestus frowned.

"But these people have committed no crime," he said.

Demosthenes shook his head grimly.

"I am afraid that you are mistaken, honoured Ephor. They have, all of them, committed the most grievous of crimes." His eyes narrowed as he spoke, and slid sideways to regard the assembled Helots darkly.

At the edge of his sight, Ithius could just make out Trellus elbowing his way forward through the crowd and toward the dais, a look of terrible fury on his face. Ithius wanted to call out to him, to all of them, and tell them to run, now, while they still had the chance, but like the rest of them, he could not, his voice lost to him as he stood transfixed by the drama unfolding before him.

"What nonsense is this?" Nestus snapped irritatedly. "First Leonidas and his insanity, and now you too? We will brook no more of this disobedience Demosthenes. I order you to speak plainly. What crime have they committed?"

"Betrayal," Demosthenes spat viciously. "Treason against their sovereign Lords and state."

"What treason!" Trellus cried out in protest as he forced his way out of the crowd and up onto the dais. "When have we ever done anything but what Sparta ordered us to!?"

Two of Demosthenes' lieutenants moved to intercept the big Helot, but Demosthenes halted them with a gesture and stepped forward to face Trellus unflinchingly, his hand coming to rest casually upon the sword at his hip.

"Earlier today, the noble King Leonidas departed for battle against the Persian Empire," he said, his tone suddenly low and filled with regret, and Ithius' throat ran dry as he felt ice like fingers close around his heart. Had they really been so easily tricked, and handed just enough rope to hang themselves with?

"Had I not been ordered otherwise by the honoured Ephors, I would have been at his side," Demosthenes continued. "But did he, your rightful King, not instruct you, the Helot people, to join him in making war upon them?"

"He made us an offer..." Trellus began, but Demosthenes silenced him with a piercing stare.

"Spartans do not 'offer'!" He hissed. "We command, and Helots obey! A King of Sparta, your rightful Lord and Master, commanded you to war, and you disobeyed!"

"Leonidas was acting without the permission of the council of Ephors!" Trellus objected. "If we had followed him, we would have been in defiance of their orders!"

Nestus nodded hurriedly,

"That's true!" he said, taking the opportunity to seize upon Trellus' argument and use it in an attempt to defuse the situation before it could spiral any further out of control. "Leonidas' war against Xerxes' forces is unsanctioned by Sparta. The Helots would have been guilty of treason if they had followed him into battle."

Already Ithius could tell Nestus' words were only so much wasted effort; too little, and far far far too late.

Around him, people were beginning to shift uneasily as they too began to realise the precariousness of their position. At the edges of the mustering fields, Demosthenes' soldiers now stood, rigid and unmoving, spears held upright, faces like masks of stone.

"Inconsequential!" Demosthenes retorted sharply at Trellus and Nestus. "As a King and military commander of Sparta, I do not deal in hypotheticals, only cold, hard facts. As Helots, they received an order from their rightful master; an order they were bound by law to follow, no matter the costs to themselves. As Helots, they disobeyed. Such mass disobedience can only be read as an attempt to ferment dissension and revolt against Spartan rule, and is as such, treason. Had they remained Helots, under Spartan law, it would have been for their masters to decide their punishment."

He gave Trellus a fierce glare that was as hard as plate steel.

"However, now, as free citizens of Sparta, your punishment is  mine  to decide."

Ithius could stand the inaction no longer. Elbowing his way hurriedly through the crowd, he reached out to Drogo and seized him tightly by the arm.

"What are you..." Drogo began, but Ithius only hissed in his ear, his eyes flashing across the crowd in search of nearby Spartans as he did so.

"Just listen," he snapped sharply. "This is going to end badly. Gather up as many of our people as you can and make for my wagon."

"But..." Demosthenes began, and Ithius tightened his grip causing the other man to wince.

"Do it now," he hissed. "We are fast running out of time!"

With a pained nod, the other man turned and began gesturing quietly to the crowd around him, ushering them toward the wagon. Ithius moved in the opposite direction, attempting to do the same.

Up on the dais, Trellus was becoming increasingly desperate.

"But you can't do this!" He shouted in a voice edging close to panic. "You came to us! We had a deal!"

"With the Ephors," Demosthenes replied coldly. "Never with  me! "

"Enough of this Demosthenes!" Nestus cut in angrily, his tone biting and sharp. "You will not carry out this punishment. We, the council of Ephors, forbid it! You and your men will stand down, and you will do so immediately!"

Demosthenes turned a hard glare on the man and snorted in derision.

"You have no power to stop me," he replied. "This is not a war to be declared, or an order to be given. This is a law to be enforced, and even you have no authority to stop it."

He turned to survey the gathered throng of Helots with a glacial stare.

"There is only one punishment to be meted out for treason against Sparta!" He announced loudly.

A ripple of panic began to spread through the crowd as he spoke, beginning close to the dais and rushing outward like a tidal wave of rawest fear. All around him, Ithius could hear the sound of soldiers hefting their spears and snapping their shields into place like the peeling strikes of doom. Without a word, he started to reach for his sword.

"SPARTANS!" Demosthenes began, and Ithius heard Trellus let out an anguished cry.

"You can't!" The big Helot shouted, leaping at the Spartan King in an attack fueled more by desperation than any real strategy. His club lashed out in a furious strike that would have caved in a lesser man's skull with a single blow.

Demosthenes was not a lesser man however.

He moved as if Trellus were underwater, taking a single back step and twisting at the hip so that the club fell wide of him, and as Trellus' follow through carried him past Demosthenes, the King's sword snaked free of its scabbard with a rasping hiss, and he whirled it high above the man's neck.

Ithius did not need to see the finishing strike. For a moment all was quiet as the crowd looked on in dumbstruck horror, then the sound of Trellus' head hitting the stone dais, followed moments later by his body crashing to the ground, jolted them out of their silence.

A scream went up from the front of the crowd, and suddenly it had become like a living thing, a wounded animal trying desperately to flee. As one, every Helot turned and began to run in all directions at once.

"EXECUTE THEM!" Demosthenes bellowed loudly over the din, his sword now smeared with fresh blood and glistening wetly in the sunlight.

The soldiers obeyed with typically brutal Spartan efficiency. As they had done at the gates only the day before, they began to advance steadily, the ring of troops around the panicking Helots slowly beginning to shrink. As they moved, they began to drum their spears against their shields in a steady, pounding rhythm that served to terrify the crowd all the more.

In desperation, at the opposite end of the field, Ithius caught sight of a small group of armed Helots bunching together in an attempt to smash a gap in the advancing Spartan line. The Spartans did not so much as flinch as the men charged at them. Along that segment of the line, they locked shields and braced, the charge crashing against them with all the effectiveness of cavalry hammering against a stone wall. The Spartans held their ground, and then retaliated, spears lashing out viciously then withdrawing, their tips now a slick and sickening crimson.

Unable to watch anymore, Ithius turned away and reached out for the nearest people he could see, a young father with the look of a farmhand, and with two small children clutching fearfully to either leg.

"What's your name?" he snapped, no longer having time for niceties as somewhere else in the crowd, he heard the sounds of a second Spartan attack, seemingly as effective as the first.

"Crixis," the man said nervously, his eyes darting back and forth across the heaving mass of people around him with a look of rapidly growing panic. "My name's Crixis."

Suddenly he gave a sharp intake of breath and a racking sob escaped him.

"By the gods!" he whispered softly to no one in particular, his voice cracking as he spoke, while his hands stroked nervously at his children's hair. "What are we going to do!?"

Ithius grabbed the man firmly by the arms and looked him in the eye.

"Crixis," he said firmly. "If you want to get your children through this, you'll listen to me."

The man's panic glazed stare slowly cleared as he met Ithius' gaze, and he swallowed then nodded, finally managing to get a hold of himself once more.

"What do I need to do?" he asked.

"Back behind me, there's a wagon," Ithius said simply. "I'm going to take you to it now. All you have to do is stay close, and try not to wander off."

Crixis nodded as Ithius span on his heel and began to make his way back through the crowd, unlimbering his sword as he went, while his eyes flashed rapidly over the crowd in big, sweeping glances to ensure that there were no Spartans close at hand.

He did not look hard enough.

As his eyes swept right for the fourth time, he heard Crixis let out a cry of alarm, and as he span back to the left, he caught sight of it; a Spartan spear thrusting at him from out of the crowd, its point shining wickedly as he barely managed to sidestep it. Crixis' warning had come a shade too late though, and the edge of the spear tip grazed cruelly across his ribs just beneath his left arm.

Hissing in pain, he reached up and grabbed the spear's haft on its follow through, then yanked hard, tugging it's owner into view from out of the crowd. It was one of Demosthenes' men alright, and he came flanked on either side by two more soldiers, each one also carrying a spear poised to strike.

As the Spartan soldier stumbled forward, suddenly off balance thanks to Ithius' unexpected resistance, Ithius did not let the opportunity go to waste. Maintaining his grip on the spear, he stepped inside the soldier's guard, driving the spear tip down into the ground and stamping hard on the haft so that it snapped in two. Then, with a furious growl, he ripped the remainder of the haft from the Spartans grasp, spinning it in his grip so that it whipped back around in a backhanded blow that caught the soldier hard across the temple. The man flew sideways, eyes suddenly glazed and unseeing to collide heavily with one of the two men accompanying him. The impact sent both men crashing to the ground in a heap and left Ithius alone with only the third man to handle.

This one was decidedly more cautious than his two compatriots. Now in close quarters, he tossed his spear to one side, and drew his own sword, circling Ithius dangerously, before suddenly darting in with a speed impressive for a man his size. Their swords clashed loudly, the sheer ringing of steel on steel filling the air, even with the chaos all about them.

With a grunt, Ithius shoved hard against the other man's guard, and for a moment managed to force his attacker back so that he could buy himself some valuable thinking time. The soldier smiled darkly as he began to circle Ithius again. Ithius scowled as he circled back in a counter direction to his attacker, going over the man's technique in his head as he did so. His opponent was large, heavier than he, and quick to boot, but he was also prone to throwing his weight forward on his instep. Ithius gave a brief mental smile. He already knew how to deal with this.

As the soldier braced on his back foot, ready to lunge forward in a fresh assault, Ithius back stepped in anticipation, his feet rasping in the dirt. Sure enough, the man threw himself forward, but instead of meeting Ithius' parry to arrest his forward momentum as he had anticipated, he instead ended up meeting nothing but air. Suddenly overbalanced and stumbling forward, Ithius wasted no time in sidestepping, his sword blade sliding between the gaps in the other man's armour, and into the soft flesh without resistance. His opponent's response was little more than a muted gasp of surprise and pain. The man managed to stumble forward a few more steps, his hands clutching tightly at the growing red wetness on his side, and then collapsed down to the ground with a muffled thud of armour against dirt, his final breath rattling hollowly in his throat.

Spinning back, Ithius caught Crixis watching him with a stunned expression.

"You... you killed them!" the man stammered.

"Would you rather I'd let them kill you?" Ithius said matter-of-factly, wiping his sword blade clean on the grass before turning and setting off through the crowd again. "Now come on. It's not much further."

Around the edges of the crowd, the screaming had turned bloody and fearful as the Spartan assault began in earnest, and the crowd began to retreat backward on itself. People who had been running one way were now turning to run in the opposite direction, not realising that those others at their backs were already doing vice versa. Somewhere in the ground, deep beneath his feet, Ithius felt the ground begin to tremble slightly.

Suddenly, the crowd parted and he caught sight of his wagon, Drogo standing close by and ushering a number of Helot families into the back, while those already in the wagon set about unloading what little cargo there was in a desperate effort to create more space.

"Drogo!" he shouted above the screeching clamour all about him and broke into a quick jog that carried him quickly across the open ground between them.

The shorter man turned, a relieved look passing across his face as Ithius approached.

"Thank the gods you're here!" he said, running to meet him. "I was beginning to think we'd have to set off without you."

"In a way, you still will," Ithius replied, helping Crixis and his children into the back of the wagon, then crossing to the front of it and beginning to unhitch one of the horses used to pull it.

"What are you talking about?" Drogo said. "We need to get out of here now, before the Spartans kill us all."

Ithius shook his head as he mounted the horse. The animal cast a wary glance back over its shoulder at him, not used to being ridden bareback, but otherwise remaining still.

"You really think the Spartans haven't already closed off every avenue out of here?" he said. "You know them better than that Drogo. They've got us dead to rights."

"So what do we do then?" Drogo asked, a tinge of panic beginning to edge his voice now as well.

" You're  going to follow me in the wagon," Ithius said. "I'm going to ride ahead and cut you a pathway out of here. When I tell you to, you make for the forests to the west, and you stay there."

"And what about you?" Drogo said. "What are you going to do?"

"If I survive the next five minutes?" Ithius shrugged. "I'm going to try and find the one person who might still be able to help us. Then we see if I can survive  that ."

"Who..." Drogo began, frowning as he tried to work out who exactly it was Ithius was talking about. Slowly, he raised his eyebrows in surprise as the answer began to dawn on him.

"Oh..." he said slowly, his mouth rolling the 'o' sound. "Do you really think she'll be able to save us?"

Ithius shrugged again.

"Baby steps Drogo," he said, tugging on his mounts reins and easing it to a brisk canter. "Baby steps. First we get out of here, then I try to figure out the rest."

Drogo nodded, and quickly clambered into the wagon driver's seat, grabbing the reins of the single remaining horse and flicking them to get the animal moving. The horse gave a protesting whinny as it strained against a greater weight than it was used to, and for a single horrifying moment, Ithius thought they may have overloaded the wagon to the point where one horse would not be able to pull it. Then, with a terrific creaking sound, the wagon began to roll forward, its thick wooden axles groaning under the strain.

Relieved that the wagon was at least moving now, Ithius turned his attention to the dirt trail ahead of them, praying that when the time came, the horse would be able to pull the wagon fast enough to escape any Spartan pursuit.

Suddenly, his horse gave an alarmed cry and pranced nervously sideways as a powerful tremor, emanating from deep in the earth below them, rocked the mustering fields. Its sheer force only added to the confusion taking place behind them. Ithius gritted his teeth and clung grimly to the horse's neck, whispering softly in its ear in an attempt to calm the skittish animal. Finally, it settled, and he straightened, urging it back to a brisk trot that carried him on ahead of the rumbling wagon.

As they rounded the corner of the hill, he caught sight of a line of five Spartans spread across the trail up ahead, their shields now raised, and spears extended, ready to catch any approaching Helots should they try to escape this way. At the sight of Ithius and the wagon, they began to advance, their sandaled feet beating out an ominous march as they moved up the trail toward him.

"Follow me in, but not too close," he called back to Drogo, then turned to face the Spartans again.

"Here goes nothing," he muttered from behind his fixed jaw, then, with a loud yell of defiance, he booted his steed in the flanks, riding it hard and straight for the Spartan line. As he rode at them, the Spartans braced behind their shields, their spears angling upward, preparing to catch the galloping steed in its flanks when it reached them.

Ithius had no intention of bringing the animal within reach of their spears though. Instead he carefully leaned forward, gripping tightly at the horse's neck and unwrapping one of his legs until he was barely hanging on. The animal's neck and mane were now the only things supporting him while his legs trailed at its side. Gritting his teeth hard and praying that his horse did not buck and throw him, he tugged hard on the mounts reins as it closed to within easy sprinting distance. The horse whinnied in protest, but still managed to come to a skidding stop, its hooves sliding on the uneven trail. Ithius felt his stomach lurch as his own forward momentum continued, but before it could fling him clear, he swung his legs down to the ground, hitting it at a dead sprint and unsheathing his sword as he went. His pounding strides could barely keep up with the speed his momentum carried him at, and before the Spartans had time to readjust their spears, he was on them, the first man within his reach falling to a sword thrust to the neck.

As he had seen Callisto do the day before, he used the gap created to by the death of the first soldier to drive a wedge into the Spartan line, lashing out left and right as Demosthenes' soldiers desperately tried to adjust to the unexpected close quarters battle they now found themselves in. The second soldier fell to a measured strike across his hamstrings, and the third and fourth to well-placed gut thrusts. The fifth man, whom Ithius presumed was the captain, had his sword free at this point, and was already moving to intercept Ithius with a vengeful gleam in his eye when the wagon thundered through. As it passed the soldier, Drogo leaned down out of the driver's seat, his own sword outstretched to carve a heavy line across the man's spine.

Ithius sagged visibly as the captain fell, propping his sword against the ground and leaning heavily on it, his chest heaving from exhaustion. Looking up, he nodded his thanks to Drogo as the wagon rumbled off up the trail. The last he saw of them was the squat man standing in the driver's seat and staring back down the trail toward him, while the few families they had managed to save huddled quietly in the back of the wagon. Then they rounded in a bend in the trail and were beyond his sight, leaving him standing alone and still leaning on his sword.

Beneath his feet, he felt the earth turn again as a fresh tremor ripped through it, this one the most powerful yet. In the distance the din of slaughter was fading as the Spartans began to complete their grisly work, and Ithius felt the muscles of his jaw tighten reflexively. With a pained grunt, he reached up and touched a hand to his ribs where the Spartan spear had grazed him earlier. It came away bloody but much less so than he had imagined. Cursing silently inside his own head, he turned and began to make his way back toward his horse.

How could they have been so stupid? How could they have so blindly walked into such an obvious trap? But then, why should it have been obvious? How could any one of them have anticipated this? He had never liked Demosthenes, it was true, but he had thought the man to at least be honourable, and possessed of an unshakeable conviction in the rule of Spartan law. This... this cold-hearted barbarism was like nothing he could have imagined, even from someone with the reputation of Callisto, let alone a supposedly upstanding man like Demosthenes. What had happened to him to make him do this?

Shaking his head, he let out a long, tired sigh, the pain in his side beginning to take its toll as his adrenaline started to fade. He had reached his horse now, and the animal was still stirring nervously after the last tremor. The coppery scent of fresh blood and sweat that now hung in the air probably wasn't helping either.

"Easy there girl," he said, reaching out and soothing the animal as best as he could manage. "Easy. Easy."

Slowly his horse ceased its wild prancing, then, instead, it began to nuzzle close to his palm as if he were carrying oats with which to feed it. Ithius smiled sadly at that, then, with another long sigh, he began to clamber wearily onto its back.

"There, there," he whispered softly, patting the animals neck gently as he did so in an effort to keep it calm. "It's all over now."

He cast a dark glance over his shoulder and back toward the mustering fields. Eerie silence was his only response.

"It's all over."

*****

The midday sun was already past its zenith as Callisto stepped up to the dry stone wall at the edge of what had once been Soriacles' land. It was quite an unassuming place now she saw it; just a number of large wheat fields, the wheat itself now turning a brilliant gold as the harvest season drew near. Each field was divided by walls similar to the one at which she now stood. Beyond the fields, it bordered a large forest that swept up into the foothills of the same mountains which Sparta itself had been built in the shadow of.

Getting out of Sparta had actually proved much easier than she had thought it would. She had imagined that she and Athelis would have to concoct some kind of elaborate escape plan to get past Demosthenes' guards at the city gates. Much to her surprise though, the gates had been largely deserted, manned only by a skeleton force of what remained of Leonidas' troops, all of whom had been more than happy to allow her to pass without incident. One of the soldiers had even saluted her as she had approached. She had not really been sure what to make of that. Besides, she was more concerned about where exactly it was Demosthenes' soldiers had disappeared to.

Their absence had not been her only cause for concern however. As they had exited the Inner City and headed out into Helot Town, Callisto had again been surprised by how deserted the place had seemed. Streets that had been bustling and thriving with people only days before, were now deathly silent, and she had only been able to catch occasional glimpses of occupation here and there.

She glanced back toward the city now, squinting to see it in the distance. It lay a few miles to the east, and Callisto felt a dark sensation of unease crawling beneath her skin as she looked at it. Something was not right this day, and try as she might, the feeling that all her efforts were simply being made too late, would not go away.

Somewhere deep beneath her feet, she felt another tremor ripple up toward her as Athelis stepped up at her side.

"Another earthquake," he said, placing his hand on the wall to better judge the tremor's strength.

Callisto nodded.

"That's the the fifth one so far today," she said. The quakes had started about two hours before as they had been picking their way across the countryside. The first one had been little more than some slight vibrations, but they had been growing steadily in strength and intensity as more had occurred. After the second, Callisto had begun to feel uneasy. Something about them made her think back to her time in the Underworld, and how Hades' fortress had shaken that night in the banquet hall.

Next to her, Athelis released his grip on the wall as the quake subsided.

"They're getting weaker again," he said, then glanced at her. "You think it's something to do with the Followers don't you?"

Callisto shrugged.

"I'm hardly the expert on them now am I?" she said, meeting his gaze evenly.

"Well, even I don't know if they can cause earthquakes or not," Athelis replied. "I always just thought Pelion was some crazy old man. Never once suspected there might actually be some weight behind this cult of his."

Callisto gave a sigh, and vaulted easily over the wall, turning back to face him as she cleared it.

"Not much use then really, are you," she said.

Athelis followed her over the wall with decidedly less grace.

"That depends on what you think you need me for," he replied, then glanced past her, toward the forest at the end of the fields.

"You think the tomb's in there?" he said, nodding toward the tree line.

Callisto turned and looked toward the forest.

"Miranda said there were springs of Pneuma running under these mountains," she said simply. "I don't see where else it could be."

She glanced up into the sky, judging the sun's position carefully. There were just past midday. Ideally an approach at night would lend them more surprise should her suspicions be correct and the Followers be present. On the other hand, finding the entrance to an underground tomb in a forest in the dark would be like trying to find needle in a particularly large haystack, and thanks to the issue of time, that haystack was now burning down around them. Leonidas would already be half way to Thermopylae by now if he was making good pace, and at her best guess, Callisto thought he might be able to hold the pass for a couple of days; four at the most depending on the casualties they would inevitably take. Even if she could find the tomb though, she would then have to return to Sparta, convince the Ephors of Leonidas' case, muster the Spartan army and then march it South. That could, if she was truly honest with herself, take days. The more she thought about it, the more she realised the time she had thought they had may have already run out.

Gritting her teeth, she shook her head. She would not let herself think like that. Not this time. This was it, her one chance to prove to the world that she was more than just Xena's nemesis, more than just some bitter, twisted creature whose only skill was causing misery and pain. She  would  save Leonidas and she would never lose anyone else,  ever again .

"Come on," she said, looking back at Athelis. "Time's running out."

Athelis nodded and began to follow after her, as they moved out into the field.

"You know," he began, following in the wake she was carving through the golden wheat, "I've been trying to figure you out since you saved us on the road, and I still can't decide exactly why you're involved in all of this."

Callisto glanced back at him with narrowed eyes, but did not break stride.

"Your point being?" she said icily.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about," he replied. "You're Callisto.  The  Callisto. Blood and chaos is kind of your reputation, not throwing yourself into harm's way to try and save some high and mighty muckety muck you only just met two days ago."

"And what if I told you I'd had a change of heart?" Callisto said, trying hard to convince herself it was true and failing miserably.

Athelis gave a derisive snort.

"You're trying to be funny right?" he said, his voice carrying a hard edge to it now. "People like you don't change. Pelion taught me that."

"Then how would you explain it then?" Callisto said, clinging tightly to her temper, but unable to keep the vicious bite out of her tone. "If you have some big secret for dealing with the world, and how cruel it can be, please do tell. It might actually help me sleep a little better when all I can see at night is my home burning to the ground!"

Athelis eyed her steadily as they walked, utterly nonplussed by her unexpected confession.

"People like you do things for others when they get something in return," he said coldly. Callisto did her best to ignore him.

"We're wasting daylight," she said, quickening her stride and trying to change the subject. Behind her she heard Athelis let out a short, dry, bark of laughter.

"HA!" He said, suddenly sounding incredibly satisfied with himself, quickening his stride to bring him level with her. "That's it isn't it!? That's it! I knew there was something else behind all this! What is it? What deal did you make?"

Callisto felt something snap inside of her, and the sudden urge to rip is smug face off with her bare hands surged darkly in her gut. Without warning, she rounded on him, fury in her eyes as her hand snaked out like a striking cobra to seize him by the throat and drag his face close to hers.

"People like me?" she hissed at him, her eyes blazing with fury as her fingers wrapped close around his windpipe. "People like me!? You know nothing about me, Athelis. Nothing! People like me start out as people like you! If you want to find out more, you should take a long look in the mirror. You'll see my face staring right back at you!"

Athelis opened his mouth to gasp for air as she squeezed tighter and tighter, feeling the cartilage beneath her fingers begin to give under the pressure. Then, as his eyes began to flutter at the edges of consciousness, she released her grip, letting him fall to his hands and knees in the dirt.

Rotating her neck so the base of her skull gave a resounding pop, she moved to squat beside him, her eyes narrowed and sharp as he continued cough and splutter.

"Well?" she said, dusting her hands theatrically as she did so.

"Well what?" Athelis managed to splutter back, still trying to draw enough air into his lungs to prevent him from slipping into unconsciousness.

"Did our delightful little chat answer your question?"

The mercenary glared at her furiously but managed to force himself back to a kneeling position, his hands shaking where they rested on his thighs, and give pained nod.

"Most thoroughly, thank you," he snarled back sarcastically.

Callisto ignored his sass and clambered back to her feet, brushing her knees dismissively as she went.

"Good," she smiled sweetly, and turned on her heel to stalk off across the field again. Was he right about her? Why was she doing any of this? Was it for Elysium? For Leonidas? For herself? When had everything become so mixed up and turned around? Clenching her fists she redoubled her pace. Whatever the reasons were, the fact that she had so many told her that it was worth doing.

Athelis did not follow her immediately. Instead he stood, massaging his throat ruefully before quickening his pace to a slow jog in order to catch up to her.

"Hey!" he called after as she approached the edge of the forest. "Hey! Listen! I think I owe you..."

Callisto cut him off with a raised hand as she drew to a stop at the edge of the tree line, her ears straining intently. Somewhere off in the distance, she could hear bare snippets of conversation, each on fluttering uncertainly on the light afternoon breeze.

"Quiet!" she hissed at him.

"You hear something?" Athelis said, keeping his voice low, and Callisto tilted an eyebrow at him as if to say 'of course'.

Athelis nodded in understanding and lifted his hand to his lips to mime stitching them closed.

With a resigned sigh, and a shake of her head, she turned back to face the forest again, her ears straining to pick up any more noise. Why did he have to be so infuriating? She did not think that, beyond Joxer, she had ever met anyone with such a profound gift for causing irritation.

Then she heard it again; another brief snatch of conversation coming from somewhere to her right

"... careful... drop... Brother Pelion... displeased..." was all she could make out, but it was more than enough.

Turning to Athelis, she flicked her head toward the source of the voices and drew her sword slowly. Athelis nodded in return and copied her, drawing that familiar notched dagger and his own sword as he fell into step beside her.

Cautiously, the two of them set off at a steady creep through the undergrowth, flitting between the trees as stealthily as they could manage beneath the glare of the sun overhead.

As they moved closer the voices gradually began to become clearer and more distinct, until Callisto found herself getting a better idea of where precisely they were coming from. A soft, sulphuric smell hung on the air as well, the exact same smell she could remember from the temple of Artemis, and later, the temple of Ares.

She turned to glance at Athelis who was also sniffing the air softly beside her.

"Pneuma?" he mouthed silently at her.

She nodded.

"And where there's Pneuma there's..." she whispered softly as she came to a halt behind a particularly thick birch tree. Just up ahead, the forest parted and beyond the trees, she could make out robed figures moving back and forth in a small clearing.

"...Followers," she heard Athelis breathe next to her. "Guess you were right,"

She nodded again.

"Guess I was," she said, flashing him a smug, self satisfied grin. "But then, that's no great surprise now is it?"

Athelis rolled his eyes and gestured quietly to the left, before moving off in that direction to silently flank the clearing.

Still grinning, and with as much stealth as she could manage, Callisto set off in the opposite direction, darting across the open ground between trees in short sharp bursts of motion when she was convinced none of the Followers were looking her way.

In less than a minute she had closed the distance between herself and the edge of clearing, and was now huddled within spitting distance of the robed figures beyond.

Peering out across the clearing, there were three men that she could see. Each one was clad in those familiar crimson robes of the Followers that Callisto was quickly learning to despise. They were clustered together around a pair of wagons, one of which was already fully loaded with barrels, and the other, half so. Even from her current hiding place, Callisto could tell the barrels were the source of the burning sulphuric smell from earlier. It was more potent here, hanging thick and strong upon the early afternoon breeze and assaulting her sense of smell from all sides. One or two of the Followers even had rags lifted to their noses as they worked, loading more barrels onto the second wagon.

Toward the opposite end of the tree line, the ground began to curve upward into a series of steep slopes, that climbed up to the foothills of the mountains over which the rest of the forest spread. Part of the slope at the other end of the clearing had peeled back over the years to reveal a sheer granite rock face. Cut into this rock face was a small, dark opening, only just large enough to fit two men through side by side, and judging by the lack of illumination within, Callisto guessed it was the entrance to the tomb they had been searching for all this time.

Her suspicions were confirmed when she caught sight of a fourth figure emerging from the tunnel, rolling another heavy barrel out in front of them.

"How many more to go?" asked one of the Followers to the newcomer.

"Another ten or so," the man said, rolling the barrel to a halt at the back of one of the wagons and straightening, with a tired groan.

"Well go and get them then!" the first man said authoritatively. "We don't have time to be lazing around out here. The Soul and the Faith will be angry if we don't have these back by sun down. They can't keep delaying the initiation ceremony. Not now, when we're so close to our triumph!"

Callisto frowned to herself. What triumph were they talking about? Just what exactly were they planning? It did not appear she was going to get the answers hiding in the undergrowth. This looked like it was going to require a more... direct approach.

"What if you don't get back at all?" she asked, her voice ringing loudly across the clearing as she stepped out from her hiding place and fully into view, giving each of them a cordial smile as she did so.

"It's her," one of the Followers snarled angrily. "The one who set fire to the temple, the one who killed Marsus and the others!"

Callisto's smile darkened as she turned her attention to the man.

"Full points for observation!" she applauded sarcastically. "Any of you want to try and guess my measurements as well?"

The Follower that had spoken's lip curled up in a furious sneer, and with guttural cry of anger, he flung himself at Callisto, a thin dagger flashing into his hand from out of the folds of his robe as he did so. Callisto did not even need to attempt a parry. The man's attack was so brazen, so unsophisticated, she could have dodged it in her sleep. Without so much as a flinch, she neatly sidestepped him, and whirled her sword in a perfect cross cut that split him clean across the spine.

He was dead before he even hit the ground.

With a grin Callisto turned back to face the remaining four men, who shifted uneasily at her suddenly gleeful expression.

"Well that was refreshing!" she beamed, brandishing her bloodied sword playfully.

"Now then," she continued, tracing a finger along the length of the blade and up to its tip where she let it linger suggestively. "Which of you is up for round two?"

Three of the men glanced at one another, then toward the fourth man, standing only a pace or two behind them.

"For Cronus," he nodded to them, then as one they turned and charged her, each of them echoing his statement of 'For Cronus' as they dove at her.

Callisto only rolled her eyes. Zealots. You could never count on them to do what you wanted them to. She had been hoping that her reputation would do much of the leg work for her, and that when confronted directly, they would just hitch their robes to their knees and go scurrying back to their masters in Sparta. She simply did not have time for an extended duel with three foolish lunatics who really should have known better than to try and attack her.

Stepping forward to meet their charge, she tightened her hand on her sword, her mouth set in a tight line of grim resolve. Normally she would have taken her time with men like this, even toyed with them a little for her own entertainment, but today she did not have that luxury. Resolving to be as efficient as possible, her sword lashed out, practically humming in her hand as the first Follower fell to a cut across his abdomen. The second man went down as quickly as the first, as she whirled back, her sword thrusting sliding into and through his stomach as easily as a knife through tenderised meat. She stood for a moment, the second man still impaled on the edge of her blade as the life slowly began to ebb out of him.

The third man had circled around her when he had seen her level his first compatriot and was now coming at her from behind. Callisto barely even needed to think. Her muscles moved practically on instinct as she raised her foot to the belly of the man embedded on her sword blade and kicked hard, yanking her sword back as she did so, so that the blade was freed in half the time. Next, she pivoted on her heel, the same leg she had braced against the second man now trailing with her momentum, so that it caught the third attacker hard across the ribs.

The man gasped as the brutal kick flung him sideways against the nearby wagon, that rocked viciously under the impact. Clinging to the wagon for support, he tried to right himself, but before he could do so, Callisto was on him, her sword swinging high and in a tight controlled arc that cleanly slashed his throat. The man's hands shot up to his neck in surprise, his fingers soaking red in less than a second as he sank to his knees, and with a final pained gurgle, he tumbled face first into the dirt.

Callisto could feel her heart pounding hard in her chest, as she stared down at the three men lying dead all about her. As she looked at them, old memories of her time spent raiding and pillaging came flooding back to her and for the first time, she noted that the sight of the carnage all around her did not really give her any sense of satisfaction. Instead, all she could feel as she surveyed the corpses was that same empty hollowness she had been feeling so often recently. Even the coursing adrenaline high she could feel pumping through her did not give her the same sense of life it once had.

At her back there was a low rustling sound, and in an instant, she was spinning on the spot, her bloodied sword blade lashing around to face whatever new threat was approaching her.

"Woah, woah! Easy!" Athelis protested, one hand raised in a calming gesture as he emerged from the bushes, dragging the fourth Follower behind him by the arm. The man was struggling hard, but each time he tried to get away, Athelis twisted his wrist sharply, causing the Follower to howl in pain.

"Oh Athelis!" Callisto said, lifting her hand to her chest in mock delight. "You always bring me the nicest things!"

"Don't say I never do anything for you," he replied flatly, dragging the man round in front of him and forcing him to his knees before Callisto.

"He was trying to run," he said matter-of-factly. "I thought we should teach him a lesson in manners."

"And what lesson would that be exactly?" Callisto asked, leering at the man with a broad shark like grin.

"That you should always say goodbye to your hosts before you try and leave a party," Athelis said stepping around the prisoner to stand beside Callisto, his own smile matching hers.

"I don't care what you do to me!" The man snapped at them, his lips coated in spittle as his eyes blazed defiance at them. He was cradling the wrist Athelis had been dragging him by, and Callisto could already tell by the way he was holding it that Athelis must have broken it to keep him under control. "I'll never betray my Lord! I'll never tell you anything!"

"Well that makes things much simpler then doesn't it," Callisto said, her foot lashing out to catch the man in the chest and knock him flat on his back. He gasped as she kicked him, the wind rushing out of him as he slammed back onto the ground.

"You see," she continued, stepping around to his side, to loom dangerously above his broken wrist. "I don't need you to tell me anything."

She grinned sadistically as she placed her boot on the broken joint and twisted it, slowly and heavily.

The man did his best not to cry out, gritting his teeth as sweat beaded on his forehead, but even then he still failed, and his jaw cracked open in an ear piercing screech of agony.

Releasing the pressure on his wrist, Callisto squatted next to him, her long fingers reaching out to catch his chin in an almost tender caress.

"However," she said, turning his tear streaked face to hers, and fixing him with a steady, malevolent gaze, "You are going to  show  me everything."

Chapter Eighteen: All Greeks Go To Elysium

Helot Town was about as deserted as Ithius had thought it would be. The streets were eerily quiet for the time of day, and he could feel eyes upon him from the upper storeys of some of the buildings as he and his horse trotted quietly down the empty thoroughfares and passageways between buildings.

The quiet did not really surprise him. Most of the Helot population had headed out of the Outer City that morning, and even more had come in from the country side, all to gather together at the mustering fields.

Few, if any, would be returning.

Seeing the streets now so empty, where normally they would have been alive and bustling with people, made the dull sense of numbness in his gut stir uncomfortably. He still could not quite wrap his head around what it was that had taken place today. The death and chaos caused by Demosthenes' sudden about face haunted his thoughts every instant, and he looked sadly from house to house as he rode past them. So many houses; so many homes, each one, once so full of sound and colour, and now the majority would never see such life again.

Not for the first time as he rode through the city, he found himself wondering just how many of his people had managed to escape Demosthenes' purge. It was a grim train of thought to be trapped upon. Surely they could not all be dead.

Could they?

He gripped the reins of his horse tightly as they rounded a street corner and the first real obstacle he had faced since escaping the mustering fields, appeared before him. His eyes narrowed at the sight of the the Inner City Gates, looming as huge and stark as they always did.

Given the choice, Ithius would have avoided the Inner City entirely. Going there after what had just happened felt somewhat akin to sticking your head back into the lions mouth, after having just escaped it once already. He had to find Callisto though. If she had been telling the truth earlier that morning, then she and that strange little Athenian had been close to finding the tomb of Lycurgus. If that were the case, maybe he still had the chance to undo what he had done, or at the very least offset it somewhat. If he could somehow find her, convince her to help him, then maybe he could still help Leonidas in some way; maybe even salvage some small degree of good from this terrible mess in which he now found himself. In the end he might be all too late to save his people, but he could, at the very least, still try and save his friend.

As it turned out, he need not have worried about the city gates. As his horse drew nearer to them, he found himself faintly surprised to be faced with guards all wearing the familiar red crested helms and cloaks of Leonidas. It would make sense that while Leonidas had taken a few of his best soldiers to Thermopylae with him, the large majority had remained within the city, so he supposed it was hardly surprising to find them still conducting their duties and guarding the gates. Why only them, though? Why were none of Demosthenes' men present? The answer was all too simple really.

The mustering fields.

As he approached the gates, one of the men on station stepped up, greeting him with a courteous nod.

"Ithius," he said, looking the former Helot up and down steadily. "What business do you have in the Inner City today?"

"I'm looking to speak with someone," Ithius replied, trying to play his cards close to his chest. After this morning's events, and reading Leonidas' letter, he was no longer certain just how trustworthy anyone in this city truly was.

"Mind if I ask who?" The Spartan replied.

Ithius sighed, unable to think of a convincing lie quick enough.

"She's tall," he began. "slim, blonde, and could curdle fresh milk with that tongue of hers."

The Spartan nodded sagely.

"I see," he said. "And this woman wouldn't by any chance be wanted by King Demosthenes and the Ephors for the murder of a certain Persian Ambassador now would she?"

Ithius only shrugged.

"I believe she might be," he said, and the Spartan gave another serious nod.

"You understand that officially, we're supposed to arrest this woman on sight and inform King Demosthenes and his men should we have any idea of her current whereabouts," he said. "Also, before he departed for the mustering fields this morning, King Demosthenes also left instructions that no Helots were to be permitted entrance into the Inner City, on grounds of security following yesterday's riots..."

Ithius gave a weary nod. It looked like Demosthenes was still one step ahead of him.

"...however," the soldier announced, flashing Ithius a sly grin as he did so, "unofficially, King Leonidas left instructions that stated quite the opposite before he left."

With that, the soldier span to face the others on guard duty with him.

"Open the gates!" He commanded loudly, and the rest of the men nodded obligingly. As the gates began to creak open, the soldier turned back to Ithius and gave him a respectful nod. Ithius just sat his horse, completely dumbfounded.

"But... why?" He managed eventually.

The soldier only shrugged.

"We all swore an oath to obey King Leonidas," he said simply. "That oath binds us until the day we die, or he orders otherwise. His last orders to us as he passed through this gate were that if either yourself or Callisto were to attempt to pass, that we were to allow it. At present those orders still stand."

From behind the soldier, there came a muffled thudding sound as the gates were finally flung wide. Ithius did not pass up the opportunity, urging his horse forward with a light touch from his heels. The recalcitrant animal tossed its head and snorted in protest, but obeyed nevertheless.

"There is one thing you should know before you continue though," the soldier said as Ithius began to ride past him.

"Yes?" Ithius said, doing his best not to sound impatient. While he was undeniably grateful for the man's help, idle chit chat was something he presently did not have time for.

"If it really is Callisto you're looking for, you won't find her in the Inner City. She already passed through this way a couple of hours ago, along with that mercenary friend of hers." The man's tone sounded stark in its disapproval.

"Do you have any idea where they were headed?" Ithius asked.

The soldier shook his head.

"We never asked," he replied.

Ithius cursed mentally. If she had uncovered the location of the tomb, it was likely she would already be there by now, but without knowing where 'there' was, he was at a loss as to what to do next. He sat his horse in silence for a moment, his fingers clenched tightly around the reins as he tried to think of where she could be, or how he could find her. Suddenly the answer came to him in a flash.

"You said the mercenary was with her?" He asked. The soldier nodded.

"Was there anyone else? A short, round man by any chance?"

"You mean the Athenian?" the soldier replied.

Ithius nodded, to which the soldier shook his head again.

"It was just the two of them."

"So he is still in the city?"

"To the best of my knowledge. He was our King's guest, so you'll likely find him back at the Palace."

Ithius dipped his head in thanks.

"You have been most helpful," he said.

The soldier only shrugged.

"Just following orders," he said, and Ithius felt a chill run down his spine. Was that what had happened this morning? Had Demosthenes men slaughtered his people for so simple a reason as they were ordered to? It was a truly unsettling thought.

"My thanks anyway," he said, trying to put those thoughts behind him. Not wasting anymore time, he turned and brought his horse up to a quick canter as he rode off into the Inner City. He was already pushing his luck dawdling by the gates. Demosthenes and his men would no doubt be returning to the city soon, and when they did, getting back out again might not be so easy as getting in had been. He wanted to be long gone before that happened.

The ride up to Leonidas' palace was as uneventful as his journey through Helot Town, although noticeably less quiet. The streets were alive with the usual activity one could expect on a balmy midafternoon such as this, but even here, a strange glumness seemed to have settled over the people. As he rode, brief snippets and fragments of conversation drifted by him. The people were uneasy. The Ephors' attempted surrender to the Persians did not sit well with them, and Leonidas' bravery was already being spoken of in hushed reverence.

Ithius frowned as he listened to them. From the way some of them were speaking, it sounded like the Helots were not the only potential revolution the Ephors should have been worrying about.

Leonidas' palace was quiet when he arrived, the courtyard sparsely inhabited save a few soldiers scattered about here and there. Ithius did not even bother to tether his horse. Already the sun was well past its zenith and would soon begin its descent toward the horizon. Time was of the essence now, and with each moment he tarried, he had less and less of it to spare.

Quickly, but doing his best to appear unhurried so as to avoid arousing any real notice, he crossed to the palace doors and stepped through them, moving at the same brisk pace down through the halls until he popped out into the banquet hall. He had planned to try and find a servant here; maybe even a Helot who had not attended the mustering fields that morning to guide him to where the little Athenian – Monocles he believed his name was – was currently residing. Much to his surprise, it was Monocles himself that he came across.

The small rotund man was standing over a table covered in ancient scrolls and tomes, his travelling pack on the bench beside him, his shoulders slumped sadly as he held two books in either hand, apparently trying to decide between them, his normally florid face now wearing a defeated hang dog expression. Ithius watched as the man gave a long, deep sigh of resignation and let both books fall back to the table with resounding thuds.

"What's the point?" Ithius heard him mutter to himself. "The chance to not just observe history, but to be a part of it... and in the end you shirk from it. What a fool you are Monocles. No one remembers those who write history, only those who forge it, and that task lies with stronger, better individuals than you it would seem."

Ithius gave a light cough, wondering how much, or even if, the little man was aware of his presence.

Monocles glanced up and gave an embarrassed blush as he realised, apparently for the first time, that he was not alone.

"I'm not interrupting anything am I?" Ithius asked.

Monocles glanced at the books around him and gave another weary sigh.

"Only my own despondence," he replied, snatching one of the books he had been holding a moment ago back up without so much as glancing at it and stuffing it into his bags.

"Something wrong?" Ithius asked, not really knowing how to broach the subject he wished to speak with the other man about.

"Only if you classify my profound sense of worthlessness in these most desperate and trying times as being 'something wrong'." Monocles replied archly. He paused for a moment, as if trying to calm himself, then took a deep breath. "But still, it would appear you have come looking for me, or else you would have moved on through by now. That is, after all, what everyone else has been doing."

He folded his arms across his chest in a gesture Ithius thought was supposed to make him look stern and authoritative, but instead succeeded only in making him look petulant.

"Ithius wasn't it?" he continued, looking Ithius up and down as he did so. "I heard about your dealings with the Ephors. How you betrayed King Leonidas' confidence in you. A most disappointing outcome if I do say so myself."

His eyes flickered downward to the table, scanning back and forth across the rows of books and papyrus again.

"Still, who am I to pass judgement? I guess that, in the end, we were both disappointments to those who were relying on us."

"More than you might think," Ithius nodded, the mustering fields still fresh in his mind. He gave a brief sniff, as he tried to center himself.

"I'm looking for Callisto," he started again and Monocles narrowed his eyes at him suspiciously.

"She's not here," he said, a little too abruptly. Ithius nodded, feeling the tension in his chest growing. The sands were running through the hour glass faster than he would like. He did not have the time to be standing here commiserating over past woes; not if he wanted to even stand a chance at correcting some of them.

"I've already been told as much," he said, doing his best to set Monocles at ease, despite his growing frustration. "Don't worry, you have nothing to fear from me. I just need to know where she went."

Monocles gave him a quizzical look at that, but it only lasted a moment before he was distracted by someone approaching Ithius from behind.

"Ah!" the little man announced. "There you are! Where have you been? I've been awaiting your return for the last hour. These works need transporting back to the city archive."

"My apologies, Master Monocles, but I was otherwise occupied."

Ithius turned to face the speaker, his eyebrows raising in surprise as he caught sight of the man.

He was clad in the outfit of a palace servant, the kind Ithius himself had often worn during his time living in the palace as Leonidas' personal attendant. This man he did not recognise though. He was average in every respect, possessed of unassuming features and an indistinct voice. Nevertheless, he must have been one of Leonidas' household Helots, a general palace jack of all trades. It would appear he had been assigned to Monocles during his tenure here.

"Is there something wrong?" the man asked as he moved to busy himself clearing the papyrus and organising the books into neat piles.

"I...uh...I just thought that the Helots had all..."

A sudden deep sense of dread hit him hard in the pit of his stomach. What if not all the Helots had gone to the mustering fields? What if some had remained in the city? Demosthenes was returning even as they spoke. His soldiers would doubtless track down those few who remained, and deal with them as swiftly and brutally as they had done with the others that very morning.

Without thinking he leaned over and seized the other man roughly by his forearm as he reached for a particularly heavy tome.

"You have to leave," he said harshly. "Right now; you, and any others remaining here close to you. Demosthenes is on his way, and when he returns, there will be no safe haven for you or any of us!"

The servant just stared back at him blankly.

"I don't understand," he said, his voice split by confusion. "Why would King Demosthene wish to harm me?"

"I'm afraid I don't understand either," Monocles said. "What reason would King Demosthenes have to harm his own people?"

"We are not  his  people!" Ithius snapped harshly in a tone that made Monocles wince. "You don't order soldiers against your own people! You don't instruct them to kill ever last man woman and child if they are your countrymen!"

"But why would you think he would do such a thing?" Monocles asked, a touch more gently this time.

"Because he already has done!" Ithius barked in reply. "This morning! At the mustering fields! He abused a loop hole in Spartan law, and ordered his troops to execute all the Helots present there. I barely escaped with my life!"

Monocles looked taken aback for a moment, then, slowly a strange look of mounting fear began to creep across his face, as if he were beginning to realise some great and terrible that no one else were aware of.

Beside Ithius, the Helot servant spoke up, his own voice quavering uncertainly.

"I still do not understand," he said. "If you speak the truth, why would King Demosthenes do such a terrible thing? Is this something to do with the Oracle of Ares? Does King Demosthenes think a Helot is responsible for her murder? Is he punishing us for some reason?"

Ithius rounded on the man with a fearsome sharpness that made him flinch.

"Miranda's dead?" he said, feeling his heart seize inside his chest. The servant nodded and swallowed nervously.

"She was found earlier today. They say the blow that struck her down was at least quick..."

Ithius barely heard the rest. He felt bile rising in his throat, and a heavy sickness deep in his stomach. Miranda was a friend from his childhood, and despite having had very little to do with her in recent years, he still had fond memories of her. She had been a clever, vivacious young woman. A bit of a flirt at times, but ultimately, only ever with eyes for Leonidas. At one point the two of them were even to have been married, but the discovery of her oracular gifts had quickly put paid to that particular plan. Now she was gone, like all the rest, so many friends lost to him in the space of a day, and how much of it was his own fault?

He could feel his jaw tightening as his teeth ground hard against one another, the sound of blood pounding loudly inside his head.

"You should leave," he said, his voice thick, his words heavy. "It's not safe here."

"But I..." the servant began.

"ARE YOU DENSE MAN!" Ithius bellowed at him with such ferocity that the servant recoiled away from him. "Demosthenes is coming for all of us with a Spartan army at his back! Run! Now, and take those you love with you. Travel as fast and far from here as your legs will carry you!"

The Helot paled visibly, but managed a final curt nod before turning and fleeing from the banquet hall.

"Um... excuse me," Monocles said, raising a single chubby finger as Ithius fixed him with a baleful gaze.

"What?" he said.

"I realise this may not be quite the appropriate time, you having just received such terrible, dire news, but I feel it incumbent upon me, and possibly of the utmost importance to ask, who is Miranda?"

Ithius suddenly felt his shoulders sag as he thought of her, the rage draining out of him as quickly as it had come.

"She is..." he paused and swallowed. "...was, the Oracle of Ares."

"And she was murdered last night," Monocles said flatly. It was not a question but Ithius nodded anyway.

"It would seem so," he said.

"This is bad," Monocles said, clutching his hands tightly together, one finger tapping nervously at the other hand as he did so. Ithius let out a frustrated laugh.

"My people dying all around me, my friends being murdered or marching off to almost certain death, and all because of me, and the most you can say is that 'this is bad'?"

Monocles shook his head.

"No, no, no, please do not misunderstand me. I did not mean to make light of these circumstances. As a matter of fact, I believe that their ramifications may be even more terrible than the events themselves."

Ithius scowled at the man angrily.

"What ramifications?" he said. "What are you talking about? I came here to try and get your help in finding Callisto, not to play some game of cryptic twenty questions."

Monocles did not appear to have heard him. Instead, he had turned his attention back to the table, his eyes flicking rapidly back and forth over the books as if he were searching for something.

"And you were correct in thinking she could help!" the little man continued, but only half addressing Ithius.

"She saw all of this coming," he muttered under his breath. "More than any of us thought possible it would seem. Just how could she know so much? Pah! No matter, this is the final piece of the puzzle. The Helots, Leonidas and his Spartans, an Oracle, the Persians... it all fits... enemies among us that we never saw, never anticipated, and now they have what they want! She was more correct than even she could know! A war greater than any the world has ever seen, but something's still not right... something about it doesn't work. There's a flaw in this plan I can feel it... if indeed it is the plan we think it is."

Ithius watched Monocles with a confused frown on his face. What was he babbling about? He had had his suspicions that something was amiss in Sparta. He had even voiced them to Callisto, but he had never thought it would stretch as far as this.

"Ah ha!" Monocles announced triumphantly, interrupting Ithius' thoughts as he reached over to hand a book to him, its pages open at the centre. Ithius took it from him with a curious curious look as he glanced down at the pages. A familiar looking sickle symbol was staring back at him.

"I've seen this before," he said. "This is the symbol the Followers use."

Monocles nodded gravely.

"It's the symbol of Cronus," he said simply, his eyes never leaving Ithius, as if he were waiting to judge the other man's reaction. Ithius simply shrugged.

"Ooookay then," he said, "So the Followers worship a dead Titan. What does that have to do with anything."

Monocles continued to watch him steadily.

"How much did Callisto tell you about them?" he asked cautiously.

"Only that she was suspicious of them," Ithius replied with a shrug. "She said she thought they might be involved in the murder of the Persian ambassador."

He looked back down to the symbol again.

"I still don't understand," he said. "What does any of this have to do with what's going on in the city? Where's Callisto? I don't have..."

Monocles raised a hand, cutting him off mid sentence.

"...'time for this'. Yes I know. None of us do really, but, please, just humour me."

He pointed to the book in Ithius' hand.

"Callisto was right about the Followers you see. They are the ones behind everything. I don't know what strings they have been pulling, but we have been dancing at the ends of them like puppets nevertheless. Cronus is not so securely locked away as the gods would have us all believe! He is reaching out into the world from beyond the grave, and the Followers are his will made flesh. He seeks to be free Ithius! Free from his prison and free to wreak terrible vengeance on the children who betrayed him so very long ago!"

Ithius was beginning to grow impatient. All this nonsense about Titans and conspiracies, and all the while, his people, the Helots, were being hunted and killed. With an irritated snarl he slammed the book down hard on the table, causing Monocles to start in surprise.

"I don't care about gods and monsters!" he snapped. "People are dying Monocles! My people! And the only way I can think of to stop it is to find Callisto and help her save Leonidas! If you can't help me do that, then I'll find someone else who can!"

"But, please just listen," Monocles protested. "I  am  trying to help you! It's all connected you see! The purging of the Helots, the death of the Oracle; it's all because of them!"

"So you say," Ithius shot back, "but why!? What good does it do them? Why would Cronus care what happened to the Helots?"

"He doesn't care what happens to the Helots, don't you see?" Monocles said, his finger pressing hard against the book Ithius had thrown down. "He only cares that they die!"

"You're not making sense!" Ithius said. "Why do my people have to die?"

"Because of the barrier between worlds!" was Monocles' reply. When Ithius' only response was a blank stare he gave a sigh of resignation.

"I'm going to have to start at the beginning aren't I?" he said.

Ithius gave a curt nod and glanced back over his shoulder toward the doors. Demosthenes' men would be nearing the city by now.

"I think you better had," he said. "And be quick about it."

"Very well," Monocles said, taking a deep breath and blowing out his cheeks as he tried to think of what to say next.

"Where is Cronus trapped?" he said eventually.

"In Tartarus, down in the Underworld" Ithius said. "Every Greek child is told the story."

"Correct," Monocles nodded. "And where is the Underworld."

Ithius rolled his eyes in exasperation. Was Monocles trying to be patronising, or was it just his natural manner to talk down to those around him. Not for the first time since the conversation had begun, he found himself wondering how Callisto had kept from stabbing the man.

"It's the  Under world," he said. "It's underground, beneath our feet. Everyone knows that."

"Then everyone is wrong!" Monocles crowed triumphantly. "If it were that simple, if the only thing separating them from us was layers of rock, the dead would be climbing back out into the world of the living every other day, and Cronus would have long since freed himself to march against the Olympians."

Ithius groaned and scrubbed a hand across his face in pure frustration.

"Where. Is. It. Then?" he said, enunciating each word as he tried to hold his temper.

"Somewhere outside our immediate reality," Monocles replied, as simply as if what he had just said made all the sense in the world.

When Ihtius just frowned impatiently at him, he sighed and continued on.

"There are other spaces outside the physical world we inhabit, you see," he said, gesturing broadly to the chamber around them. "Our world is only one of many planes of reality, or at least that's the way the theory goes. There are countless more that we cannot see, feel, hear or touch. They exist all around us and apart from us at the same time. The palaces of the gods atop Mt Olympus are one such space. The Underworld another."

Ithius narrowed his eyes thoughtfully. Despite the pressure of time, Monocles' words were beginning to intrigue him.

"Go on," he said simply.

Monocles nodded and motioned to the books in front of him.

"There are various texts, treatises and dissertations among these works, that outline the nature of these worlds and how they interact. Philosophical works mainly. Not really my field mind. Rather woolly, full of unprovable theories, and a lack of hard empirical data, but thought provoking nevertheless..."

Ithius folded his arms and regarded the other man steadily. Monocles cleared his throat in an embarrassed fashion and continued on.

"...anyway, while much of what they say is pure speculation at best, and there are a great many dissenting opinions, one notion that seems quite common is that all of these various planes of reality are separated by barriers; natural boundaries that serve to maintain the distinction between realities and the spaces in between."

He paused for a moment to catch his breath before continuing.

"The barrier between the worlds of the living and the dead is a permeable one. The souls of the dead can pass through it on their journey to the other side. In doing so, they place stress on the barrier, though. Normally it's strong enough to withstand this pressure. However, if it were already damaged, and enough pressure was placed upon it..."

"...then it would collapse," Ithius said, finally beginning to see the point at which Monocles had been driving this whole time.

Monocles nodded.

"Exactly!" he said. "Callisto already knew this. She said that Cronus was trying to collapse the barrier between this world and the Underworld; that, by triggering a conflict between Sparta and the Persians, he would start a war that would consume all of Greece. The death toll would be enormous on both sides, and the barrier would tremble under the strain."

A dreadful sense of realisation began to settle over Ithius as he listened to the other man speak.

"And you think my people were the first blow don't you?" he said.

Monocles nodded.

"What other purpose would it serve?"

"But that would mean..." Ithius began, his mind turning rapidly as he tried to keep everything Monocles was telling him in perspective. "...That would mean that Demosthenes is..."

"...A Follower?" Monocles said, and gave a shrug. "Perhaps, but who knows for certain? He may only be a pawn in all of this, the same as the rest of us."

"And Miranda?" Ithius asked, feeling a lump form in his throat as he thought of her. "How would her death figure into it? She's only one person after all."

"It's not always a matter of quantity," Monocles replied. "Sometimes, the quality is a consideration too. The greater the soul, the more strain placed on the barrier. Great men and women would cause strain, and Oracles are gifted with a direct line of communion with the gods. That alone would doubtless cause greater strain upon their death than the average individual."

Ithius nodded in understanding. So far it all made a grim kind of sense to him. The worst kind of sense really. There was however, a single nagging detail.

"What about the Persians?" he said, and Monocles frowned at him.

"What about them?"

"Well, the way I've always understood it, is that Tartarus and Elysium is how we Greeks think of the afterlife. Do the Persians go there too?"

"Of course not," Monocles said with a dismissive wave of his hand. "They have their own religious rites and practices, their own understanding of death and where it is they go after they..." suddenly his voice trailed off sharply as a look of unexpected and horrified realisation passed across his face.

"By the Gods!" he managed to gasp. "That's it! It has to be! THAT'S IT!"

Ithius looked at him curiously.

"What's is?" he said.

"The Persians!" Monocles said, snatching up his travelling pack and shouldering it hurriedly as he began to make for the door. As he passed by the book he had earlier handed to Ithius, he paused to grab it, then began walking again, thumbing through the pages rapidly as he went.

"They're a misdirect," he continued, only half paying attention to Ithius, "all smoke, mirrors, and sleight of hand. Cronus doesn't want a war with them! He never did!"

"But you said Callisto was right..."

"I know what I said," Monocles replied. "And she still is for the most part. The Followers  do  want a war and all the death it will bring with it. They just don't want the war we thought they did!"

"Then who do they want a war with?" Ithius said, following after the shorter man, not really understanding what he was talking about.

"Think about it!" Monocles said, rounding on him, his eyes shining with a revelatory intensity that bordered on madness. "Only Greeks go to the Underworld. The Persians don't go there. They don't believe in it and as a result, they never pass through the barrier. Assuming that is the case, who do you want Greeks to fight if you want them to die by the score?"

Ithius stared at him blankly for a moment, and then the answer hit him like a powerful gut punch.

"Other Greeks," he said, his voice low and worried.

Monocles nodded.

"But how does starting a conflict with the Persians get Sparta to go to war with the rest of Greece?" Ithius said.

Monocles gave a deep frustrated sigh.

"I don't know," he said, turning on his heel and starting for the door again. "But Callisto must be warned. You must go to her, tell her what I've told you."

"But I don't know where she is..." Ithius replied. They were walking through the Palace's entry hall now, approaching the large double doors that led out into the courtyard.

"She is at the lands of a Helot called Soriacles..." Monocles began, and Ithius froze in his tracks.

"Did you just say Soriacles?" he said.

"Yes," Monocles answered, pausing to look back at him. "We came to the conclusion that the tomb of Lycurgus was located there. Callisto and that meat head assistant of mine went to find it."

He paused and glanced at Ithius.

"Did you know him?" he asked.

Ithius could only nod, then gave a deep swallow. Was this the reason Soriacles had died? Had the Followers murdered him, the same way they had done with Miranda? The more he began to uncover about them, the more he began to realise how much of the misfortune dogging Sparta's every move these last few weeks could be laid squarely at their door.

"What about you?" he said, doing his best to keep his voice even. "What are you going to do?"

Monocles looked down at the floor and shuffled his feet.

"I'm afraid I must take my leave of you," he said. "Other cities must be warned of what is to come, my own Athens foremost among them."

Ithius only stared at him evenly.

"You're running." he said.

Monocles fell silent for a moment, then gave a slight, tight nod.

"I am," he said morosely. "I have a terrible suspicion that when King Demosthenes returns, this city is going to become a decidedly less hospitable place for the likes of me, perhaps even as dangerous as it has already become for you."He glanced at Ithius and gave and embarrassed shrug of his shoulders. "Did I not say I was a disappointment?"

Ithius said nothing. Instead he began walking again, his stride longer and more purposeful this time, carrying him past Monocles and out into the daylight beyond.

As he emerged into the courtyard, he could see the sun was well past its zenith and that it was now beginning to sink toward the horizon. Clouds had begun to move in, and the sun's long, dying rays were casting them in shades of bloody crimson.

He crossed quickly to his horse. It had moved only slightly from the spot where he had left it, and the animal snorted tiredly as he clambered astride it. Suddenly it's head flicked around to stare out past the palace walls as a distant, pealing blast from a horn announced Demosthenes' return to the city.

"You'd best get moving," he said, turning to look at Monocles, who had followed him into the courtyard. "Banking on Demosthenes' mercy is not something I would recommend."

With that, he turned and spurred his horse hard with his heels, driving it forward and out of the palace into the city beyond at a lurching gallop.

*****

Monocles watched Ithius' horse disappear out of the palace, then glanced about him warily. The courtyard was all but deserted now. A lone soldier marched back and forth with an even, practiced gait across the breadth of the yard, and a couple more walked the ramparts that ran to either side of the palace gate, but other than them he was alone.

He did his best to suppress a shiver as he felt a deathly chill run down his spine. In truth he had been feeling less than safe ever since Leonidas and Callisto had left. A strange, tar like tension seemed to have settled over the city, and it was beginning to make Monocles uneasy.

A second horn blast, identical to the one only minutes before but much nearer this time, jolted him from his bleak thoughts. Quickly, he turned and began to make his way toward the stables that had been constructed in a corner of the courtyard. Surely there would be a horse of some quality there that he would be able to saddle and ride. He had always hated horses truth be told, but with the sudden very real fear of death snapping at his heels, he would be willing to chance riding one of the beasts if it would carry him away from here.

As he walked, he went back to thumbing through the book he was carrying in his right hand. It was an old tome, dedicated to the history of the Underworld and the nature of Hades' rule there. There was something he had read only yesterday morning that had caught his eye, but that at the time he had thought was inconsequential. Now though, it nagged at the back of his mind, the same way the Persians had done. If not for Ithius, he would never have put two and two together with the issue of the Persian afterlife. Now he had however, and he was beginning to wonder what else he might have missed.

If only he could remember what he had read and where he had read it... Had it been chapter one or the close of chapter three? Perhaps even chapter five? He could not remember for the life of him, and the more he thought about it, the more he began to doubt that he had even brought the correct book.

His thoughts were still drifting when he entered the stable. Standing as it did, in the shadow of the palace walls, little day light actually entered it, and now torches mounted in brackets at the entrance to each stall had been lit, all of them burning with a warm, homely light that immediately set Monocles' mind at ease.

Maybe it had just been spending hours rummaging through ancient texts in a big empty banquet hall that had set him so on edge. Reading about the Followers had not really helped either. There were dreadful things in those texts regarding the cult of Cronus; how it had once been a benevolent force in the world, but how its descent into cruelty and viciousness had mirrored the increasing cruelty and paranoia of their own Titan Lord. It made him shiver to think of it even now. Still, with the warmth of the flickering torchlight all about him, and the gentle snorts from the horses in their stalls, his nerves were finally beginning to calm.

Nevertheless, he did not have time to waste.

Crossing quickly to one side of the stable, he placed the book he was carrying upon a stacked hay bail, then turned to collect one of the spare saddles mounted upon a series of hooks along the wall. The horses in the stalls watched him placidly as he turned to best judge which of them would be the most fit for him to ride, passing down the row of stalls and eyeing each horse carefully as he went.

Some were feisty. Light on their feet, they would prance and toss their manes as he approached. One of the animals, a sizeable warhorse from the appearance of it, snorted and stamped its hooves heavily as Monocles drew closer, and he made sure to step wide as he passed by that stall.

Eventually he came to one with a fairly calm looking gelding standing inside. Cautiously, so as not to alarm the animal, he slid back the bolt on the gate and stepped inside. The horse gave a soft snort, but otherwise did nothing as he placed the saddle heavily across its back. He needed placid animals really. The spirited, zesty mares were too much for him to control, and that big warhorse would as soon bite his face off as look at him. No, this gelding would do just fine.

As he began to fasten the bridle around the animal's head, he began to think back to Callisto, and he felt a heavy sense of sadness stir deep in the pit of his stomach. She had called him a coward, and had been right to do so. It was not that he did not want to try and be heroic. He truly did wish he could be there beside them, uncovering real history, and helping to save King Leonidas, but every time he thought about the risks and the dangers involved, he felt his palms turn cold and clammy, and a creeping, queasy sense of fear would begin to gnaw at the back of his mind. He looked at the horse sadly, and it stared back at him in turn. It had large dark eyes that, dumb though they were, still managed to look accusatory.

"I know, I know," he said. "But what would you have me do? Ride out after Callisto and Ithius? And what help would I be even if I did? I'm no warrior. Just a fat little man with a passion for books."

The horse gave a soft whinny and Monocles chuckled to himself.

"So you agree with me then?" he asked. The horse whinnied again.

He reached out and began to tighten the last of the bridle straps. What an easy life the horse must have, just riding hither and thither, nothing more than a mount for other people. It had nothing to concern itself with really other than the will of whoever was riding it. Something about that thought stirred something else lose in the back of his mind, and he could feel that creeping sense of unease beginning to return again.

"How do you live like that?" he said. "What kind of a life is it you lead when all you do is carry out someone else's wishes? It's not really a life at all is it. You just become nothing. Hollow. Empty. A shell, a..."

Suddenly, the answer he had been trying to remember this whole time came to him in a flash; a single word burning bright across his memory.

"A vessel!" he breathed. By all the Gods on Olympus, there was more to all of this still.

Plans within plans.

Without thinking, he seized the last of the bridle straps and yanked it tight, causing a protesting snort from his horse. He had to get to Callisto. Maybe if he rode hard now, he would still be able to catch up to Ithius. Company on the road would be far safer than if he were to be riding alone, and...

He paused and smiled to himself. The sense of fear was gone. When the realisation had come to him, the path before him had suddenly been made as clear as a bright summer's day. There had been no room for doubt, no room for fear. This information was simply too important, too vital to go unheard. Callisto had to be told, and there was no one else left to do the telling but him.

He flexed his fingers, clasping them to the palms of his hands.

They came away bone dry.

His smile broadened, and he turned, walking back out into the stables to collect his book. As he stepped out onto the stable floor though, felt his back stiffen, and he froze in his tracks.

A second man had entered while he had been in the stalls, and was now standing with the book in his hand, leafing absently though its pages as if he had been waiting for Monocles.

"Ah!" the newcomer said, looking up to catch sight of Monocles for the first time. "There you are. I was beginning to wonder if you were actually in here or not. A very nice young Helot informed me that you were planning to leave, and so I thought I would come here in the hopes of catching you before you did."

The newcomer was dressed all in crimson robes, finely embroidered with that chillingly familiar sickle symbol stitched to the collar. He was an older man, and it took Monocles less than a second to recognise him as the Followers head priest, Pelion. He had met the man the night they had arrived in Sparta, but then he had had little awareness of the Followers or the god they worshipped.

That was quite the opposite now.

"This..." he began, his throat suddenly dry. Coughing uncomfortably, he cleared his throat and started again. "This is quite a surprise, friend Pelion. I must admit that I was not expecting to see you here."

Pelion cocked his head slightly, as if he were listening to some distant sound. Monocles strained his ears but could hear nothing.

"Was there a reason you should have been?" the old priest said, with a strange half smile.

"Um... not really no..." Monocles replied, not knowing what else to say. "...but it does beg the question, why it is that you wanted to see me?"

Pelion smiled, and gestured toward the pages before him.

"An interesting text this," he said, sidling neatly around Monocles' question. Holding up the book in one hand he tilted it, as if inspecting it for damage or other markings.

"Full of fallacy mind," he continued, "but interesting nevertheless. I must admit though, it does have the right of things in one or two instances."

He fixed Monocles with a level stare.

"I believe you already know the matters of which I speak,"

Monocles swallowed again, his throat suddenly completely parched. There was only one exit from the stables, and Pelion was positioned perfectly between them.

"I can assure you, I have no idea to what you are referring," he replied without conviction, his legs feeling as weak as if they were made of water.

Pelion's smile never left his face, but his eyes hardened in an instant.

"Oh come now, Monocles," he said, as if he were scolding a child. "You cannot really believe me so foolish as to accept such an obvious lie."

With almost casual disdain, he flipped the book open again and reached down into it. With a tearing sound that made Monocles' heart sink, he unceremoniously ripped out a handful of pages; the same pages that contained the information Monocles could only half remember no doubt. He could feel his heart sinking still further as Pelion crossed to one of the lit torches and held the pages up until they caught alight with a dry crackle. The flames began to devour them hungrily and Pelion turned to regard him coldly.

"You know who it is we worship don't you," Pelion said and Monocles nodded.

"He speaks to me now, you know," the old man continued. "My Lord I mean. Even now, he can hear your thoughts."

He cast the burning pages to one side, leaving them to turn to ash against the dry stone cobbles that covered the floor as he began to advance purposefully toward Monocles. Slowly, so as not to appear too alarmed, Monocles began to back away.

"He tells me that you fear him," Pelion continued, edging Monocles back against the stable's rear wall. "That you fear me."

Monocles felt his back meet the cold stone of the stable wall with a soft thump. There was nowhere else to go. Pelion had him trapped.

"Tell me," the old priest said, now only a single pace from him. "Is that true? Do you really fear me?"

Monocles swallowed hard again and nodded.

"I do," he said, his voice barely more than a whisper.

"And you hate it don't you," Pelion said, taking another step closer. He was now less than an arm's length away. "You hate being afraid, hate the way it comes upon you unbidden in the night, and controls you whether you want it to or not. You hate the way it steals your pride from you, and unmans you in front of those whom you so desperately yearn to have respect you."

Monocles nodded again, unable to say anything. Pelion's face eased, his eyes no longer hard like glass, but now soft and pitying instead.

"My Lord can rid you of that fear you know," he said. "If you were only to let him in into your heart, if you were only to give him your allegiance, your loyalty, your absolute and utmost faith, he could take that fear and the pain it causes you, take it and use it to build a new world! A better world! A world where no one would have to be afraid ever again. You would like that wouldn't you? A world without fear, a world without pain..."

He let his voice trail off, his words hanging seductively on the air.

Monocles took a deep breath. There was only one answer he could think of.

"Your 'Lord', such as he is, could never give me that," he replied, surprising himself with how steady his voice was. "He is nothing more than a parasite, long dead and leaching off the pathetic whims of bitter, hate filled people like yourself, and all so that he can cobble together some semblance of life once more. Such a creature cannot create a new world. He can only set the old one to burn."

He shook his head firmly.

"No," he continued, his voice rising, his conviction steady and unwavering. "I deny you, old man. You and that creature you call Lord. Such a thing can never, and will never, defeat those who have the will to stand against it."

Pelion's soft, pitying expression vanished in an instant, and he spat angrily at Monocles' feet.

"And who has such a will?" he snapped viciously. "You? That pitiful assistant of yours, Athelis? Maybe Ithius then? The self-styled leader of a murdered people? You are, all of you, pathetic! What hope could you have to stand against the might of the Great Cronus! King of the Titans and Lord of the Harvest!"

"There is still Callisto," Monocles replied, stepping forward away from the wall, standing with his back firm and his legs strong.

His hands were still dry.

"Callisto!" Pelion snorted. "HAH! She is the most hate-filled and malformed of any of you! If you think that, in the end, she will avail you, you are sorely mistaken. Her spirit is twisted; her will broken! My Lord makes plans within plans, and she lies at the heart of them all."

"Nevertheless," Monocles replied evenly, "she will be the one who, to use a vulgar and colloquial expression, kicks your proverbial behind."

Pelion gave a furious snarl, and before Monocles could react, a dagger had appeared out of the the old priest's robes and was clutched tightly between his fingers. It flashed grimly in the torchlight and Monocles felt the breath rush out of him as the blade caught him in the gut.

"Such defiance," Pelion hissed in his ear as Monocles stumbled back heavily against the wall, his hands pressing to the wound in his belly. Strangely, he could not feel any pain, but there was an odd spreading warmth beneath his fingers.

"Such colourful invective." With a grunt, Pelion pulled the blade free and lifted it so that Monocles could see his own blood shining along its length. "You have read much and discovered even more. Were you in anyway truly formidable, I might have even considered you a true threat."

He glanced at the glistening wetness marking the steel, and smiled cruelly. Already the world seemed to be greying at the edges, and Monocles could feel his mind drifting. Despite all his senses crying out to him to let go, to succumb to sweet bliss of death, he clung on grimly, his hands still pressed tightly to his stomach.

"In the grand scheme of my Lord's plans, though, you are ultimately nothing more than a footnote," Pelion continued, "a bump upon the road that has already been passed by. Your death will be a worthless one, quiet and unremembered, much as your life was."

Monocles' strength was failing now. With a wheezing groan, he collapsed to his knees, a single blood soaked hand taking his weight as his back sagged, and he coughed heavily. A thick coppery taste stained the inside of his mouth, and with that, he knew he was dying.

"You..." he managed between pained gasps, "...are worth... even less... than I."

Slowly he reached out toward Pelion's robes, his hand wavering weakly in the air as he tried to claw at his killer's hem.

Pelion gave a disgusted snort and stepped back so that he was well beyond Monocles' reach.

"Take what you have learned with you to the grave Monocles," he hissed and turned on his heel, to stalk off out of the stable. "May it serve you better in the next life than it did in this one."

Monocles could barely make him out as he departed. His vision was failing now, colour bleeding out of the world as his life bled out of him. He could feel it deep inside him now. A growing warmth easing out from the wound in his belly, numbing the pain and everything else with it. With a grunt, he collapsed forward, his face smacking heavily against the hard stone floor. Normally such a blow would have set his head reeling, but now it barely even registered. All he wanted was to sleep, to let go and surrender to that sweet warmth flowing through him. Slowly his eyes began to drift shut...

No!

His eyes flew open suddenly. Not yet. He could not go yet! There was still one more thing he had to do! One last act of defiance that would finally prove his worth. With painful, agonising effort, he braced his arms to either side of him and managed to heave himself up onto all fours, thick blood stains marking the cobbles that had been beneath him.

The book! It was all that mattered now. He had to reach it! He had to!

Slowly, but determinedly, inch by painful inch, he began to crawl across the stable floor.

Chapter Nineteen: Entombed

The tunnel was silent save for the sound of shuffling feet and the occasional pained whimper as Callisto stepped quietly behind Athelis and their Follower prisoner. They had been descending down the old mine shaft for what seemed like forever, although in truth, it could not have been for more than ten or fifteen minutes. The going was slow, mainly thanks to the narrowness of the passage and the recalcitrance of their prisoner. He would occasionally dig in his heels to mouth objections or to otherwise hiss obscenities at them. His only response was to receive light but meaningful prods from the end of Athelis' dagger.

That soon got him moving again.

It was probably something to do with having spent a great deal of time trapped in not just underground caves, but also beneath piles of boulders, encased in hardened magma, and even in Tartarus itself, that, over the years, Callisto had grown to dislike dark enclosed spaces, and now, being gods knew how many metres underground in a narrow tunnel, pretty much qualified as such. The deeper they went, the more she could feel her tension levels rising. She had never realised before just how much the absence of sunlight and fresh air bothered her, but this deep down below the surface of the earth with no immediate way out, she was suddenly keenly aware of how close the walls were and how low the ceiling had become.

As they rounded a slight bend in the tunnel, she felt her breath catch when she saw that up ahead, the roughhewn ceiling above them dipped so low, she would need to squat to pass beneath it. She paused for a moment, placing a hand against the wall and taking a deep breath to steady herself.

"Are you alright?" she heard Athelis ask, though his voice sounded strangely distant to her.

"I'm fine," she replied, a little too sharply, and he raised his hands in mock surrender.

"I was just asking," he said.

"In the future, don't," she shot back.

Nearby, she heard their prisoner let out a low, dry chuckle of amusement.

"What's the matter?" he jeered nastily at Athelis. "Your pet psycho here is scared of the dark?"

Callisto gritted her teeth and took a threatening step toward him, her momentary shortness of breath already passing as she felt her irritation with the man stirring inside her.

"For someone who was begging for mercy less than a half hour ago, you certainly seem to have a lip on you," she snarled, remembering the way he had moaned and whimpered when she had stood on his broken wrist. "Keep talking like that, and I'll take great pleasure in ripping it off."

The man's face turning a fear filled pale white was clear, even in the dim torchlight, and Athelis flashed him a devilish smirk.

"Guess that answer's your question huh?" he said. The Follower visibly gulped, causing Athelis to chuckle darkly and nudge him with the tip of his dagger again.

"Get moving," he said, forcing the other man to duck low under the roof. Callisto watched from behind as the two of them vanished through the narrow gap, rolling the pads of her fingers against one another instinctively as they went. For a moment she was alone, the only sound her own breathing and the occasional drip of moisture from further back down the tunnel.

"You coming?" she heard Athelis call back through the gap to her, and Callisto nodded, even though no one else was present to see the gesture.

"On my way," she replied, stepping forward and ducking quickly through the gap as she had seen him do.

On the other side, she found herself standing in a tunnel a little wider than the one before. Ahead the path forked in two, both tunnels curving out in opposite directions to one another and Callisto caught Athelis watching her out of the corner of his eye.

"Which way, do you think?" he asked.

Callisto shrugged, and crossed to their prisoner's side. He held his broken wrist gingerly with his other hand.

"Why don't you tell us deary?" she asked with a too wide smile, reaching out to stroke gently at his damaged limb as she did so. The Follower tried to shy back away from her, but she clenched her fingers tightly around his forearm, refusing to let go even as the man gritted his teeth in pain.

"After all," she continued, her voice still all sweet innocence, but her eyes as hard as cold steel, "it is why we invited you on this little adventure."

The Follower gave an involuntary shudder and looked away, unable to meet her baleful stare.

"To the left," he muttered grudgingly.

Callisto reached out and gave him an affectionate pat on the head.

"Good boy," she said with a satisfied smile, "Keep this up and I may even offer you a treat later."

She stepped to one side as Athelis gave the man another of his chivying prods.

The prisoner stumbled slightly on the uneven stone floor, and shot Athelis a hate filled glare. Athelis, for his part, remained nonplussed.

"After you," he said, gesturing toward the tunnel with mocking politeness.

The rest of their journey down through the mining tunnels went much the same way. Each time they came to a point where the tunnel would branch or split, there would be a brief pause as they determined which direction to go, their prisoner having to be 'encouraged' to lead them on each time. As time wore on, Callisto began to feel her patience being tested, and with each time they were forced to stop, she could feel the anger building inside her. Time was running out, if indeed it had not already done so, and the thought of it lit a fire of determination in her that she had not felt in a long time.

Eventually though, they turned a corner, and Callisto found herself standing just behind the other two men, and staring along its length toward a ragged hole that had been smashed out of an otherwise natural ending to the tunnel. A number of torches surrounded the entrance, their light immediately drawing the party member's eyes to it. Slowly and cautiously, Athelis began to creep forward, his eyes never leaving the opening as he moved down the length of the tunnel, both his notched dagger and sword drawn and held tightly at his sides.

"Is this it do you think?" he said, casting a glance back over his shoulder toward Callisto. She did not answer him directly, but instead turned her hard stare on the Follower who stood off to one side, still cradling his broken wrist.

"Well?" she demanded.

The man said nothing, only nodding as if he were a child caught stealing apples from an orchard. Callisto looked back to Athelis.

"I guess that's a 'yes' then," she said, drawing her own sword, and pointing at the man.

"Now," she said dangerously, "it's time for you to be good little host and give us the guided tour,"

The man watched her sword blade fearfully for a moment before giving another tight nod and setting off down the tunnel after Athelis.

The tunnel was worryingly close to either side of them, barely wide enough to fit two men abreast through it, and Athelis had to press his back against one wall to let the man pass him, before turning and following close behind him. Callisto flexed her fingers around her sword hilt and set off after them both, her eyes flickering across the pooled shadows to either side of her.

Just ahead of her, both their prisoner then Athelis clambered through the opening in the wall, and Callisto was about to follow suit, pausing briefly to cast a final backward glance down the tunnel at her back.

Suddenly, she froze, one hand raised to brace against the stone wall, while her eyes fixed on a small alcove off to one side of the tunnel. The shadows were at their thickest there and for a brief instant, she thought she had seen them flicker and shift, the same way they had done so at the temple of Artemis before that strange figure going by the name of Mortius had attacked them?

"Come out, come out wherever you are," she whispered softly into the empty air, but nothing moved in response. Even the shadows seemed to be still and waiting.

"Callisto!" Athelis' voice drifted out of the opening to her.

"What is it?" she asked, still not taking her eyes off the alcove.

"You really need to see this!" Athelis replied, his tone one of excitement now.

Callisto frowned at the alcove one last time, then turned away, and ducked through the opening to join the others beyond.

What awaited her was both not quite unexpected, but still more than she had bargained for.

She was standing in a huge hollowed out cavern, one that even she could tell was only half natural. It had clearly been carved out of the solid stone for the most part. Around the walls, a number of torches had been set up to light the place, casting it all in warm orange glow. Two long rows of Grecian pillars framed either side of a central path that lead up a small flight of stairs to a raised platform, and on that platform was some kind of altar or sarcophagus. Between each of the pillars, statues had been erected on tall marble plinths, each one clearly depicting a man, slightly larger than natural scale, with spear outstretched and a shield across one forearm. A curious detail was that while the spear hafts were carved of a piece with the rest of the statue, the bronze tips and each statues shield were very much the real thing. Despite the archaic style of dress each statue depicted, Callisto could tell that they were intended to display Spartan Hoplites; silent, heroic guardians of this ancient place.

"Well," Athelis grinned next to her. "What do you think?"

Callisto flashed him an equally satisfied smile, feeling her spirits raised just by the sight of the chamber laid out before them.

"The word 'jackpot' springs to mind," she said, moving off between the pillars. Athelis gave their prisoner a rough shove so that he would fall into step with them and then set off after her.

"If this is the place then, shouldn't we be heading back?" he said, his voice echoing off the hard stone walls all about them. "We have the proof we need right?"

Callisto shook her head.

"Not just yet," she replied. "We need to make absolutely sure this is Lycurgus' tomb. I'm not leaving anything to chance."

She stalked determinedly across the chamber, doing her best to block out a familiar wafting sulfuric smell that hung thick and heavy in the air.

"Not this time, anyway," she muttered quietly to herself, and somewhere in the back of her mind, she heard that same mocking laughter that seemed to have taunted her so much recently.

As she reached the foot of the steps that ran up to the raised platform above, she paused, casting her eyes searchingly at the walls around them. Lit by torchlight though they were, the chamber was simply too big to be lit in its entirety, and even now, long motes of darkness crept up the walls and between the pillars, each one like long clawing talons. Something stirred in the back of her thoughts; a memory of Tartarus and the shadows there. The hairs on the back of her neck began to stand on end and she suppressed a shiver. She could not shake the feeling that they were being watched.

Doing her best to ignore it and focus on the task at hand, she mounted the steps, taking them two at a time until she was standing on the raised platform opposite what she could now tell was clearly a sarcophagus. It was a huge circular thing, cut in the likeness of a massive Spartan shield, and laid out on top of it was the carved effigy of a man, lying stately and serene, his eyes closed and hands folded across his chest. It was the face Callisto noticed immediately. It had been carefully worked into the stone, and even though the centuries had worn it down somewhat, the fierce aquiline nose and flat cheeks lent the figure an all too familiar appearance.

"Looks like someone we know doesn't he," Athelis said simply as he stepped up beside her.

Callisto nodded, her attention fixed on the sarcophagus, her eyes sharp and searching.

"So," she heard Athelis say as he turned to face their prisoner, "Is this the tomb of Lycurgus? Is this what you were trying to hide when you sent your Brothers to try and kill Monocles and I on the road to Sparta?"

"I know nothing about that!" the Follower spat sharply, his voice angry an incensed. "Even if I did, I would not tell the likes of you anything!"

"Glutton for punishment, don't you think?" Athelis said, flashing Callisto a suggestively sadistic grin.

Callisto only shook her head at him, to which Athelis frowned in return.

"Are you  trying  to spoil my fun?" he said.

"There's no need," Callisto replied, pointing to the sarcophagus and small series of symbols worked across the stone shield's surface.

"We have what we came for," she continued. "see?" One of the symbols was of a roaring lion, identical to the crest of Leonidas and the Agiad Line.

"Definitely Lycurgus' tomb then," Athelis grinned.

Callisto nodded again, but absently this time. She had noticed something else beyond the sarcophagus; a strange, sickly yellow light that lit up the rear end of the cavern's wall. Carefully she sniffed at the air again, feeling that same familiar sulfuric scent burning in her nostrils. She knew what it was of course. She had known since she first entered the chamber.

Without a word, she walked cautiously past the sarcophagus, her fingers brushing lightly over the stone as she walked. Just ahead, the platform dropped away sharply, disappearing down a sheer carved rock face and into thick and noxious yellow lake below. It was the source of the strange, sickly light that lent its dim illumination to the flickering torchlight from around the chamber. Out in the distance, a thin sliver of failing daylight lanced down from a gap in the ceiling somewhere overhead, alighting on a small island of natural stone that rose, ugly and misshapen out of the lake. A long rope lead back from the island to a small wooden boat, moored some distance down the rock face from her.

Near to the boat, a crude wooden framework appeared to have been hastily erected. From the looks of things, it was some kind of pulley system, designed to lower buckets down into the lake and bring them back up full to be retrieved.

She frowned in confusion, turning over all the details in her mind. Something did not quite add up. The tomb was why Soriacles had died. She had known it from the moment she sighted the lake. He had been killed to keep this place a secret. The Followers had taken advantage of the situation though. They had played it smart, and used his death to rile up the local Helot populace, deepening the schism between the Spartans and their slave underclass until the Spartans had been forced to offer them freedom, which in turn had led to Ithius' betrayal of Leonidas.

But why?

She knew they wanted a war. Of that much she was certain, but the more she thought about it, the more she realised it did not quite make sense. Splitting the Helots from Leonidas' cause only served to weaken the Greek side against the Persians. Surely, if the goal was death on a massive scale, then it made more sense to pit armies that were more or less equal against one another. It would make the war more drawn out, and the death toll higher. There was something else at work beneath all of this, the one piece of the puzzle that simply did not fit, no matter how hard she tried to make it. Was this what Ares had tried to tell her? What was she missing!?

"This is that Pneuma stuff you were talking about?" Athelis voice sounded close behind her. She had been so lost in her own thoughts she had not even heard him approach.

"The very same," she nodded glancing back over her shoulder at him. Their prisoner was with him, Athelis' hand fixed firmly to the man's shoulder.

Carefully Athelis took a step toward the edge of the platform, peering cautiously down at the lake while his nose wrinkled in disgust at the smell assaulting it.

"And you actually drank this stuff?" he said, flashing her a disbelieving look.

"I inhaled it," Callisto said. "There's quite a big difference."

Athelis straightened, shaking his head as he did so.

"I don't envy you that either," he said. "Smells like a Cyclops died in there."

The two of them fell silent for a while, both just staring down into the lake of Pneuma as if it were some kind of mirror, its surface as smooth and even as polished glass. Oddly enough though, the only things it seemed to reflect were the two of them. The rest of the chamber, the rock face, the platform, the boat; the Pneuma reflected none of them. Next to her, Callisto listened to Athelis' leathers creaking as he shifted uncomfortably.

"Something on your mind?" she asked, casting him a sideways glance.

He shrugged.

"Not really," he said, then puffed out his cheeks in a sigh. "It's just that... well... I've been thinking..."

"That must have been a challenge," Callisto grinned devilishly at him, and Athelis slanted an eyebrow at her in turn.

"...about some of the things you've said to me," he continued, ignoring her jibes, "and I was just wondering about... you know..."

Callisto cocked her head at him quizzically.

"I really don't," she said. "What are you trying to say?"

Athelis scrubbed a hand through his hair, a look of genuine discomfort on his face.

"...About you, and how this makes you feel."

Callisto frowned at him and gave a confused scratch of her forehead.

"How what makes me feel?"

"This!" Athelis said, his voice rising as he gestured at the tomb around them. "Finding the tomb, knowing you were right, and having what you want so close you can almost taste it!"

He took a low breath to calm himself before continuing on.

"I guess what I'm trying to say is, you told me that none of it was ever enough. That this pain, this hurt inside; that it never goes away." He rubbed uncomfortably at the back of his neck, a strangely boyish gesture that Callisto had never seen him do before and for a brief moment she was not looking at Athelis, the vengeance hardened mercenary. Instead, she saw only a normal man; maybe even the man he had been when he had first met his wife and fallen in love with her, and Callisto knew it was a side of him that was slowly slipping away, gradually being consumed by the hatred inside him.

"In the end," he continued, "all I'm really asking is, does any of this make you feel... I don't know... Better, I suppose?"

Callisto flashed him a look of disbelief.

"You really want to have this conversation now?" she said, her voice filled with incredulity.

Athelis regarded her for a moment, then nodded tightly, his stone faced mask of disinterest already firmly back in place.

"Not the best timing huh," he said.

"Not so much, no," Callisto replied and turned to stare back out over the Pneuma lake, nudging a small fragment of stone over the edge so that it vanished into the foul smelling liquid with a quiet plop.

She did not really know how she was supposed to feel, but she  had  expected to feel something, she knew that much. Maybe release, or exultation, or any number of other emotions at finding the tomb, saving Leonidas, and potentially earning her place in Elysium. In the end though, the one thing she had not expected was to feel quite so... numb.

She let out a low sigh.

"To tell you the truth, I don't feel a lot of anything anymore," she said. "I'm not really sure why. Maybe I just can't."

She cast him a sideways glance.

"How about you?" she asked. "Are you feeling what you thought you would?"

Athelis paused for a moment, seeming to think about that, then finally shook his head.

"No," he replied. "I thought I'd feel... relieved I suppose. Finding this place puts me a big step closer to seeing Pelion's head on a pike, right where it belongs..." he paused and gave a frustrated sigh, "...but I still don't feel any of that. Instead, I just feel kind of..."

His voice trailed off as he tried to search for the words.

"Numb?" Callisto offered. "Hollow?" She gave him a knowing half smile. "Not enough is it?"

Athelis shook his head.

"I just don't think it's what I really want is all."

"It never is," Callisto replied, and Athelis frowned at her.

"So what is it that you're after then?" he asked with more than a little irritation.

Callisto tapped a finger against her lip thoughtfully.

"You're the second person in as many days to ask me that," she said her gaze far away and lost in her own memories, "I don't think I'm really sure any more."

She jolted herself out of her reverie and turned to look Athelis square in the eye.

"I used to be, though" she said. "I used to know exactly what it was that I wanted, and that was enough to make everything else in my life fall into place. It was all so clear, what I had to do – no – what I needed to do! It all seemed so simple and easy. Too easy really, I suppose."

"So what changed?" Athelis asked.

"Nothing," she said, never taking her eyes from his. "I got what it was I thought I wanted, and nothing changed at all." She shrugged. "Nothing ever  really  changes."

Athelis did not respond, instead staying silent and staring bleakly out across the lake. Callisto watched him for a moment, her eyes narrowed. What  did  he want? Did he even know? Or was he really just the same as her, swept along by his own bitterness and hate?

"All I can tell you Athelis, is that all I used to want was to feel better, and the only way I knew how to do that was by hurting everyone around me." She took a long deep breath, her thoughts turning to Leonidas, and strangely enough, to Hercules and even to Xena. "People used to try and tell me how lost I was and how there were other, better ways to make the pain go away. I didn't listen to them. Now though, this instant, I have someone depending on me, someone placing their trust in me, and I think I'm finally starting to understand what those people were talking about all along..."

Behind them, she heard their prisoner give a derisive snort.

"Touching!" he sneered at them. "Truly touching, the pair of you."

Athelis turned to glare at him.

"I think we made a mistake not breaking his jaw," he said darkly and Callisto flashed the prisoner a glance too.

"We would have missed out on all that delightful whimpering though," she said.

"I am not afraid of you!" the man jeered back at them. "My Brothers will come for me, and my Lord will be freed! When that day comes, you will both of you know suffering beyond what you can possibly imagine!"

Athelis stalked angrily up to him.

"You won't need to wait to find out what that suffering feels like if you don't shut up," he snarled. The man cowered back from him, but still managed to lift his chin defiantly.

"You think my Lord does not know of you mercenary? You think he cannot find you? He sees and hears all! He knows you, even now! Knows you better than you know yourself! He looks into the dark hearts of all of us, and the hate he finds there only makes him stronger! He..."

Athelis' sharp punch to the man's sternum doubled him over and caused him to gasp in pain.

"They really don't know when to stop talking do they?" Athelis said to Callisto with a 'what can you do' shrug.

Callisto only rolled her eyes and turned to leave. She had had quite enough of this place, what with its sulfuric stink and the dark and somber thoughts that had been plaguing her since she had arrived.

"Come on," she said. "It's past time for us to be getting back to Sparta. The Ephors will need to be told about this place."

Athelis nodded but said nothing, instead tightening his grip on their prisoner, and began to fall into step behind her.

Suddenly, at the corner of her vision, Callisto saw the shadows flicker in an unnatural fashion and her back stiffened instinctively.

"Athelis..." she said, reaching back over her shoulder to draw her sword, as she turned slowly, taking in the full scope of the chamber all around her.

"I saw it,"Athelis said. "I don't think we're alone in here."

"You never were," the Follower in his grip crowed triumphantly. "My Brother is come! Just as I knew he would!"

As if in answer, the shadows ahead of them cracked and split, like a river bed after a drought, and through them, Mortius stepped to stand before them, tall and foreboding, his long dark robes almost unnaturally still. At his side he carried that same long spear that had nearly ended Callisto at their previous encounter.

The sight of him standing before them made Callisto's heart sink with dismay. She should have known that this was not going to be so easy as to simply walk in and then back out again. At the temple of Artemis, she and Athelis had barely escaped from Mortius with their lives. Now, he was between them and the exit, and with that realisation came another that caused her to grind her teeth together in a dark, frustrated sneer. Yet again, she had been so close! So close to finally putting an end to her pain, so close to saving Leonidas, and guaranteeing herself a place in Elysium with her family! She may not have known which of those things she actually wanted more, but she knew that right now, Mortius was standing between her and all of them.

"His Soul is come at last!" Their prisoner cried out, "My Brother, has come to ensure our plans! You will both die! Do you hear me! DIE!"

Without warning, he lashed out with his elbow, catching Athelis off guard and hard beneath the ribs with his one good arm. Athelis stumbled sideways, momentarily stunned, and lost his grip on the man, allowing him to shake himself free and take off at a run before either Callisto or Athelis could stop him.

"Praise be to our Lord that you're here!" The man shouted to Mortius as he sprinted across the open ground. "They tried to make me talk! They tortured me! Put me through pain like I had never known before, yet still, I did not break! You must kill them! Kill them both!"

Mortius never stirred from where he stood. Instead he remained perfectly still, waiting for the Follower to reach him.

"Do not concern yourself with their fates Brother," he said as the man skidded to a stop in front of him, his chest heaving from the sudden exertion.

"But they should suffer!" the Follower protested "as they made me suffer, should they not?"

"Suffering is unimportant," Mortius replied. "Failure on the other hand..."

His backhand was unexpected and vicious. It caught the Follower hard across the face, a perfectly judged strike that shattered the man's cheekbone with a sickening crunch. The prisoner hit the floor, howling in pain, as Mortius tilted his head to regard him where we lay. Even with someone as taciturn and difficult to read as Mortius, Callisto could feel the disdain radiating off him.

"Did you think our Lord did not know of your betrayal?" the shadow cowled figure asked, his voice like ice rasping against stone. "Did you think he did not hear your thoughts? You called out to him in your pain, and, supremely benevolent as he is, he turned his gaze upon you. What he saw incensed him! You led his enemies  here , to the one place that could undo all our work, and now you come to me, begging for my aid? For  his  aid!?"

"But Brother!" the man protested, his voice little more than a pathetic whine. "I had no choice! They tortured me! They..."

Mortius' blade swept around in a strike so rapid, Callisto almost thought she had missed it. For a moment the Follower lay still, suddenly silent and motionless. Then, slowly, his head rolled away from his body.

"You are not my Brother," Mortius hissed, the shadows clustered at his feet reaching out hungrily to creep over the body like a horde of rats sweeping across a corpse.

There was something about the way the shadows moved in his presence that stirred a memory inside Callisto. It was the same memory she had had before. The way they hooked and clawed around the Follower's corpse, dragged her back to her journey across the Styx with Charon... and what had come after it on the distant shore at the edge of Tartarus itself, that strange mist shrouded half-way land between the worlds of the living and the dead.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Athelis, capitalising on Mortius' distraction and using the moment to slip sideways out of sight and into the gloom behind the pillars and statues. Callisto chose to remain in plain sight, parting her feet slightly, her sword held loosely at her side but ready to be brought up into a striking posture at an instant's notice. She did not want Mortius to began actively trying to find Athelis. Better to remain where she was and try to hold his attention while the other man got into position.

Mortius' gaze lifted from the body, and fixed upon her again, his head cocked slightly in that curious manner he had. Then, as if in mockery of her, the shadows rolled back over him again and he disappeared from view. Callisto felt the anger already stirring inside her begin to burn harder. With an arrogant toss of her head, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin imperiously, her fingers tightening around her sword hilt as she began to stride across the stone platform. She had had enough of being on the back foot and playing the fearful little mouse. She would not let herself be cowed by this one trick freak and his little vanishing act. She would not let him stand in her way, not now she was this close to everything she had been trying to achieve.

In the past she had failed more than she had ever succeeded, her quest for vengeance driving her into an abyss of madness and despair. Well, this time she would not fail. She would save Leonidas, and everything would be right again. She swore it to herself from between clenched jaws.

"Well, well, well," she said, adopting the same mocking tone she had used so often to infuriate and annoy her enemies. "It looks like Pelion's little attack dog is back for round two. Are you here to try and stop us then? Keep us from foiling your pretty little scheme to get the Persians and Spartans to go to war with on another?"

"You are trying to bait me," his voice answered, deep but hollow. It seemed to be coming from all around them, reverberating off the stone walls the same way a gong strike would. "Using what you know to try and intimidate me, make me reveal my hand to you so that you can turn it against me. A sound strategy, but it will not work. I have spent lifetimes trapped beyond the edges of the world you know," his voice continued to float hauntingly on the air all around her, "Unable to speak, unable to move, unable even to breathe, able only to watch and listen. It is a torture like you could never imagine. There I learned to be patient in a way you cannot conceive. It is impossible to make me angry Callisto."

"Never say never," Callisto retorted, descending the steps, with fluid, serpentine strides until she was standing back on the main tomb floor, a wicked grin slicing across her face as she swept her eyes back and forth across the shadows. "I have a special talent for irritation."

"Nor can you manipulate me," Mortius' voice echoed out to her, still calm and impassive. "It's far too transparent a tactic. One need only apply pressure in the right manner to produce the desired results. Allow me to demonstrate..."

Suddenly the shadows in a corner of the chamber cracked and split again, and Mortius was there, standing in a completely different location to where he had been previously, his staff shining wickedly in the dim torchlight.

"Ticktock, Callisto, ticktock," His voice resounded deeply of the walls, but not in the same directionless fashion as it had before. There was a taunting edge to it now; one that dripped with mockery "Leonidas' time is beginning to run out..."

He took a meaningful step forward, his trailing shadows twisting hungrily as he moved.

"...or perhaps, while you dally here with me, it already has, and even as we speak, he is little more than a rotting, bloated corpse upon some distant battlefield."

Callisto gritted her teeth, and took her own threatening step forward, her sword clenched tightly between her fingers.

"You see how easy that was," Mortius said, his voice once more flat and emotionless. "The right pressure points pushed and I can make you dance to whatever tune I wish."

"It's a good job I already know the steps then," Callisto retorted. "Maybe I should teach you them."

"My patience is inexhaustible," was Mortius' only reply. "I cannot be goaded, tricked, or otherwise taunted. Can you say the same?"

"Patience never was one of my virtues," Callisto shot back tightly.

"I imagine that listing said virtues would not take long," Mortius replied flatly.

"Why, Mortius!" Callisto forced herself to giggle, clapping her hands together in mock astonishment "Was that supposed to be some kind of joke?"

Mortius did not reply. Instead, he turned his head, as if surveying the pillars that ran along the length of the room.

"You have brought Pelion's stalking bloodhound with you," he said. "I must admit, I was less than impressed with his performance at the temple. Considering how much Pelion fears him, I had expected much more of a challenge. In the end he was so dissapointingly..." he paused as if searching for the words. "...normal," he finished then, tilted his head back, as if sniffing at the air.

"I know you are out there!" he called out to the darkness beyond the pillars. "You cannot hide in the shadows. They belong to me and even now, your fear burns brightly among them. I will extinguish it soon enough, but first..."

Her turned his gaze back to Callisto.

"...first I will deal with you." Slowly, he cocked his head again, and Callisto found herself wondering what exactly it was he was listening for... or maybe even who he was listening to?

"You, Callisto, are a much more exhilarating prospect," he said, sounding almost like what he was saying was a grudging admission of respect. "You do not fear me the same way he does; the same way all others do..."

Callisto smiled back at him wickedly.

"Mortius," she giggled, "I've taken down Warrior Princesses, noble champions, gods, goddesses, and even an ancient primeval spirit of overwhelming evil. I've been dead, and I've been immortal, and I've seen pretty much everything else in between. Put in that context, you're natty little line of shadow slinging party tricks really don't impress me that much."

"You have not seen everything." Mortius replied, and suddenly the shadows reached out from all around, taking him in an almost loving embrace until he had completely disappeared from view once more.

"I've seen that one a couple of times now!" Callisto retorted smartly.

When he spoke again, his voice was echoing in from all around her in the same manner it had before.

"Tell me something," he said, ignoring her jibe "How much did Zeus tell you about we, Cronus' loyal Followers? Did he tell you we were evil? That we were come only to destroy and wreak carnage? That we must be stopped, no matter the cost?"

Callisto hefted her sword up into a ready position. All around her, the shadows were beginning to roil and dance, as if she were trapped at the bottom of a cauldron of boiling water.

"...Or did he tell you nothing at all?" the disembodied voice continued. "Yes, I think that's it isn't it? A blind warrior, thrown to the wolves as a sacrificial lamb to buy time for weakened and failing gods, and all for a promise that you know in your heart of hearts they will never fulfill."

"None of that matters to me anymore!" she snapped back, and was surprised when she realised she meant it. "All that does matter is that, right now, you're standing between me and my goal."

She flexed her sword so that her shoulder joint popped loudly.

"Ah yes," Mortius replied. "Your strange attachment to Leonidas. So you trade loyalty to one set of masters for another? Have you no will of your own? Must you always spend yourself in service to others?"

Callisto's lip curled upward in a disgusted sneer.

"You're trying to recruit me?" she said. "Is that what this is about?"

When Mortius spoke again, he sounded genuinely weary, as if he were talking to a particularly dense child.

"Once again, you are a disappointment," he said. "I have no interest in you whatsoever, at least none beyond stopping you revealing the location of this place. It is almost a pity really. Your reputation is a formidable one. Would that I had met the real Callisto, rather than this pitiful shell of a woman that stands before me now."

Callisto grinned at the shadows around her, doing her best to try and figure out exactly where he was most likely to reappear.

"You think you know me so well," she jeered. "Well, I might know a little more about you than you think I do. Those shadows in Tartarus, the ones that tried to grab for me after I crossed the Styx; those were you weren't they?"

Mortius' voice fell silent, and Callisto's grin widened. The comment about Tartarus had been a shot in the dark, a wild guess fueled more by desperation to find some chink in his otherwise impenetrable armour. She was quietly surprised it had even paid off, let alone rendered him speechless.

"Ah," she smiled smugly. "So this 'pitiful shell of a woman' may know a little something something after all."

She placed a free hand on her hip and shifted her weight to a more aggressive stance.

"Now then, since you're so chatty today, and we seem to be in a sharing mood, maybe you should tell me something else that's been bothering me." Knowing she had already blindsided him, she wanted to keep him on the defensive, not give him time to marshal his thoughts. This might be the only chance she got to learn anything from him.

"Did Zeus throw you into the Underworld before or after he gutted your 'Lord' the first time around?" she asked with a smug smile.

"Do not presume you know anything about me!" Mortius' voice suddenly spat venomously from out of the darkness. "You know nothing of who I am, about what pains I have had to endure! NOTHING!"

"Touched a sensitive there spot didn't I!" she shouted back, a sense of grim satisfaction alighting in her gut as she did so. "I know enough, and as someone recently told me, knowing your enemy is the first step toward ending them!"

"Enlighten me then," Mortius' sneer was savage and filled with bile. "What could you possibly know that could ever hurt me?"

Callisto's grin widened still further, her teeth white and shark like in the growing gloom.

"I know you burn," she giggled sadistically, remembering their last confrontation. "Now I'm looking forward to finding out if you bleed too..."

Mortius' guttural snarl echoed loudly all about her, and suddenly the shadows to her left flexed tightly, then snapped, revealing him hurtling toward her in a furious leap, his robes billowing at his back as his long bladed staff lashed out toward her head in a flashing arc of silver

Callisto dropped instinctively, her leg lashing out in a clean sweep intended to take Mortius' legs from under him. He was too skilled for such a simple counter though, and jumped clear just in time, reversing the momentum of his swinging staff and arcing it round into a downward cut that forced Callisto into a backward roll, the blade atop it gouging through the stone floor with a shower of sparks and an ear piercing screech almost beyond hearing.

She was already straightening when he came in at her again, that same silver blade arcing cruelly in toward her gut this time. With a vicious yell, she brought her sword around to catch it in a graceless parry. The weapons impacted against one another with such force that the resulting clash echoed loudly across the chamber and shook Callisto's arms to the bone.

"So, the big bad Mortius has a temper after all," she sneered at him as their blades squealed loudly against one another.

"This is pointless," he growled back at her, and shoved hard, trying to force her off balance. "You could not defeat me at the temple of Artemis. You will not defeat me now."

Callisto countered his rough move, bracing hard with her back foot, and pushing back against him, all the while doing her best to hide her surprise at just how strong he was. His muscles were like stone, never once surrendering so much as an inch, no matter how hard she shoved against his guard. Sweat was beginning to bead in the small of her back. She could not hold this position much longer.

"Oh, don't be so sure of that," she grinned with false confidence and trying hard not let her arms shake as she felt them beginning to weaken. "There's one advantage you had last time that you don't have now."

"And what would that be?" Mortius hissed.

Callisto raised an eyebrow at him cockily.

"This time I've got room to move," she said, then quickly skipped back, leaving Mortius to shove against nothing but air.

The shadowy figure stumbled forward slightly, momentarily off balance. Callisto tried to seize the opportunity, but he moved too quickly, turning his stumble into a crouching sweep with that damnable staff of his.

As if on instinct, she threw herself into a backward flip, the staff passing harmlessly beneath her, her trailing leg lashing out to catch Mortius hard in the stomach and driving him back a pace or two. She was relishing the greater space the tomb provided to maneuver. In their previous encounter, the close confines had favoured the reach of his staff, limiting Callisto's mobility and allowing him to keep her at a distance, while still being able to contain her movement. Here, that was no longer the case and she was free to move how she saw fit.

As she landed, she barely had time to register Mortius' sudden reversal as he came in at her again, his movements lightning fast and driven by a dark fury she had not seen from him before. He flipped the staff along its axis and yanked it up in a diagonal cross cut designed to hack Callisto in two as if it were a butcher knife filleting steak. Callisto responded by taking advantage of the space afforded her again, leaping into a sideways cartwheel that carried her clear of Mortius' blade, but not before it sheared through a couple of her trailing strands of hair like a sickle harvesting wheat in the field.

As her feet alighted on the floor once more, she flung herself into an offensive, pivoting and bringing her sword around in a perfect spinning, back hander that would have taken a lesser warriors head clean from their shoulders.

Mortius moved with the same speed and ferocity she was growing accustomed to. Back stepping out of reach of her blade, he twisted in a similar reverse back hand to her own, his sickle blade once again meeting her sword with another ringing crash. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he inverted the silver staff weapon's edge, hooking her sword in an attempt to yank it from her grasp as he had done at the temple previously.

Callisto grinned wickedly. She had been expecting this. With a snarling yell, she released her grip on the sword hilt, allowing it to clatter noisily to the ground, much to Mortius' surprise. Not prepared for the move, he stood motionless for a split second, trying to readjust the momentum of his weapon, and Callisto seized on the opportunity. She stepped inside his guard as quickly and easily as the wind gusting through the trees, and planted a furious barrage of palm and elbow strikes across his torso. Mortius let out a low hiss, recoiling in pain as Callisto pressed her advantage, raining down blow after blow on his defences. She did not let up for an instant, her teeth gritted in rage as she pushed him back across the tomb floor. The anger that had been building inside her through the entire fight finally exploded, creating a fresh torrent of purest rage that surged through her veins like scorching acid, purging everything that it touched until there was nothing left. Somewhere, at the edge of her mind, she heard that bitter, sneering laughter begin once more, and with a furious hiss, she redoubled her efforts, pounding Mortius as if her very soul were riding on it, which, in some ways she supposed, it was.

Try as she might though, she could not get past his guard, and slowly exhaustion and frustration began to get the better of her. At first, Mortius was simply doing his best to fend off her strikes, then slowly the nature of the fight began to shift. More and more of his blocks and parries became counter strikes, disrupting Callisto's rhythm and edging the momentum back into his favour. Callisto's teeth ground tightly together as she tried desperately to reassert her dominance, images of Leonidas, and the golden fields of Elysium flashing through the back of her mind as that taunting laughter echoed louder and louder inside her skull. She could not lose this fight! No matter what it took, she had to win!

Then suddenly, and completely unexpectedly, her fist hammered into Mortius' waiting palm, his fingers closing around it like a steel trap. He paused for a moment to regard her with disdainful tilt of his head, then twisted savagely. Callisto did her best not cry out, but could not stop herself, and she doubled over in pain as he pushed her joint close to breaking.

"You are proving most difficult to kill," he said, sounding genuinely surprised.

Callisto did her best to grin at him through the pain he was inflicting on her.

"Tell that to Xena," she giggled from between gritted teeth. "She's been trying get me to stay dead for years now!"

"I can imagine her frustration," Mortius retorted, then twisted at her wrist again, the opposite direction this time, and Callisto hissed as she felt the joint begin to creak under the pressure.

"Zeus may have chosen better than I thought with you," Mortius continued. "Still, despite all his effort, here you are, at the feet of the Soul of Cronus; the great shining hope of the gods, broken and defeated by the will of their ancient enemy."

Slowly, the silver blade of his sickle staff slid across her vision, and Callisto could not help but notice the blood of their former prisoner still staining it.

"It is somewhat fitting really. You will die in the same manner that the Olympians will soon face; on your knees, wracked with pain, and utterly, utterly alone..."

Slowly he began to draw the blade back for a killing blow, Callisto lifting her head to glare up at him defiantly one last time...

...which was when Athelis landed across his back.

"You're forgetting one thing!" the mercenary hissed, his familiar notched dagger flashing dully as he twirled it in his grip so that it was held high and poised to strike. "She was never alone!"

With a furious shout, he brought the dagger down hard into Mortius' side, but before it could pierce flesh, it was stopped short. Mortius had released Callisto, and somehow managed to snare Athelis by the wrist, his grip as unyielding as stone. Athelis' eyes widened, the tendons in his neck bulging as he matched his strength against Mortius' but no matter how hard he strained, he could not break the dark figure's grip on him.

Mortius responded by pulling him close, shaking his head wearily at Athelis as, with seemingly very little effort, he twisted the dagger around to point back at the other man's stomach.

"Still such a disappointment," he muttered.

Callisto felt her heart beat thundering in her chest. Athelis was about to die! She had never really been sure what to make of him before now, or even if she actually liked the man, but in this moment, she still knew that she could not – no – would not let him perish.

She clenched her fingers tightly together, straightening as she did so, then, with an ear piercing shriek of purest hatred, she flung herself at Mortius, her hands outstretched and clawing desperately for his unseen eyes in an attempt to draw him off Athelis.

Their robed attacker countered with a cruel flowing grace. Pivoting on the spot, he brought his leg around in a powerful kick that slammed Athelis back against a nearby pillar. The mercenary's head cracked against the stone with an audible crunch that made Callisto wince, as he slid limply to the ground and lay still.

She did not have time to work out whether or not he was alive or dead. Before she could even blink, Mortius' follow through was bringing the blade of his staff around in a wicked quicksilver blur intended to bury the weapon right in the center of her ribcage. She barely had time to react to the strike, sidestepping hurriedly out of the path of the oncoming blade but directly into the path of the staff's haft. Just in time, she managed to get her hands up to deflect the worst of the blow, but she had known gods hit with less force.

The staff hammered into her with the same force as a cyclops swinging a tree trunk, while the sheer force of the blow lifted her off her feet and sent her sailing backward through the air to crash hard against one of the statues' copper shields. Winded from both Mortius' strike and the impact with the shield, she collapsed face first to the floor, her breath coming in forced, ragged gasps. With a pained groan, she rolled onto her back, just in time to see that the bronze shield she had collided with had been jarred loose, and that it was now swinging alarmingly on the hooks that affixed it to the statue.

She let out a short, sharp cry of surprise as suddenly, those same hooks snapped, sending the shield crashing down the length of the statue, edge first, and straight toward Callisto's neck.

Just in time, she managed to roll to one side, and the shield hit the stone floor beside her with a terrific clang that set her head and ears ringing.

Slowly and somewhat groggily, still dazed as she was from the force of Mortius' strike, she tried to rise to her feet, only to feel a pressure weighing down on her chest.

Concentrating hard, she tried to bring the spinning scenery of the tomb around her to a standstill, and as her vision resolved she finally caught sight of Mortius, standing with his foot pushing her back hard against the floor. She reached up futilely to claw at his leg, and felt the haft of his spear press down on her wrist, leaving her with only one arm free.

"Why do you struggle so?" He asked. Callisto did not answer. Instead, she hissed furiously at him and redoubled her strained efforts to free herself. There had to be a way out of this! She refused to accept that this was how it would end!

Above her, Mortius only gave another weary shake of his head and twisted the haft of his staff hard against her wrist, causing Callisto to wince in pain.

"I had thought you would welcome death," he said flatly. "After all, would it not be an end to your pain? And end to the suffering? An end to all those years spent hating and being hated in turn..."

"I happen to think I have quite the sunny disposition!" Callisto snarled up at him, but Mortius ignored her.

"...If it is the sting of death you fear, I can assure you it will only last a moment, and then you will be free..."

"...to burn in Tartarus you mean!" Callisto hissed, her free hand scrabbling desperately back and forth across the stone, her legs kicking futilely as she tried to somehow get loose. "Oh do spare me the hard sell. Pelion already tried it on me and I'm not in the market to buy."

"Then you did not listen to him," Mortius replied. "As you have never listened to anyone. You need not fear the Underworld Callisto, for when my Lord Cronus is free, there will be no more Tartarus! Hades will be vanquished with the rest of them, and the afterlife will be my Lord's to remake however he sees fit. Tartartus will never be able to hurt any of us ever again. There will be nothing to fear from death, and my Lord will not stop there. He has the power to remake the world! To free us all from the petty tyranny of the Olympians! Eternity in paradise could belong to all of us, in this world and the next. By coming here, by trying to save Leonidas, you are threatening all of that! Why would you do such a thing? Why, when it could so easily belong to you, to Leonidas, to your  family !"

The mention of her family caused Callisto to fall still for a moment, but the anger in her gut continued to blaze hotter and hotter, until it became roaring inferno, burning any other emotion that touched it down to ash. It was then that her clawed hands brushed against something cold and metal lying not far from her. The shield that had fallen from the statue!

With fire burning in her, she hooked it with her finger tips, drawing it closer to her and wrapping her fingers under the rim as she did so.

"Eternal peace and paradise could be for all of them!" Mortius continued, his voice suddenly impassioned in a way she had never heard from him before. "Your father, Pankos, your mother, Arleia, your sister..."

Callisto could take no more, and her anger finally boiled over as she tightened her grip on the shield.

"You..." she snarled up at him, "...leave my family..."

Her voice rose to the pitch of a vicious yell as she lashed out with the shield, the heavy bronze disc smashing hard into Mortius and flinging him sideways off her.

"...OUT OF THIS!" she finished, suddenly free and seizing on the opportunity to rise to her feet, the shield still clutched tightly between her fingers.

As always, Mortius' surprise was only momentary, and he was already recovering by the time Callisto was upright. His staff lashed out for her again, but this time she was prepared for it.

Still holding the shield, she gripped it tightly with both hands, leaning back and thrusting the rim of it up to catch Mortius' staff's blade. Her aim proved true, and the sickle hooked around the shield's edge, and Mortius yanked hard against his staff, trying to pull the shield from her hands the same way as he had with her sword only minutes before.

Callisto clung on grimly, and when as his weapon held fast, she braced her foot against the rear of the shield for leverage, and fell into a backward roll, the sheer momentum of her own weight, combined with Mortius' surprise and the weight of the shield, serving to tug the staff sharply out of his grasp, only to clatter noisily to the ground.

As she finished her backward roll, Callisto brought the shield up, ready to defend against any attack, only to realise Mortius had already pulled his vanishing act again. Cautiously she narrowed her eyes, her gaze sliding back and forth across the shadows.

Normally she would have said something now, taunted him in some way, but her anger was burning too hotly in her chest now. How had he known her family's names? She shook her head. It did not matter how he knew them. She would never let him near them! Him or his 'Lord'! Her family had paid for their place and peace in Elysium with their lives, and if there was one thing Callisto knew more certainly than anything else, it was that she would never allow anything to threaten that or them ever again. If that meant she had to face down a Titan, then so be it.

Suddenly, the shadows to her left began to flicker and dance crazily, and before she was entirely ready, Mortius reappeared, flying out of the darkness at her, his hands outstretched to choke the life from her. Callisto was getting used to his little bag of parlour tricks now though, and she hurriedly span on her heel, bringing the shield round hard to crash into the robed figure's side. The impact of mettle against bone boomed loudly off the pillars, and Mortius reeled backward under the force of the blow, Callisto shadowing him and lashing out with the shield yet again. This time he attempted to lift his arms as a block the strike, but the hit was too vicious and the shield too heavy. It smashed through his guard as if it were a stone hurled against glass, and Mortius staggered, visibly dazed by now.

Again and again and again, Callisto hit him with the shield, striking from right to left, and then back again from left to right, the shield swinging great sweeping arcs that knocked him this way and that, but that were always forcing him backward across the tomb, and right up the edge of the Pneuma lake. Her teeth were clenched together so hard it almost hurt, the hate and the anger thundering inside her like a roaring maelstrom of fury driven by thoughts of Leonidas and the golden fields of Elysium where her family now dwelt, and the fate that might await all of them were she to fail.

"You…" She snarled cruelly, bringing the shield around so that its rim struck him hard across the jaw. "…will not hurt Leonidas! You will not hurt my family!"

She brought the shield back across the other side of his face, sending him slamming to the ground with another pealing boom that bounced raucously from pillar to pillar and statue to statue.

"I won't let you!" she snapped, following up her last strike with a vicious kick to Mortius' ribs that flipped him groaning onto his back.

"DO YOU HEAR ME!?" she continued furiously, stepping astride him and raising the shield above her head as she prepared to bring it down, rim first, in a final powerful strike that would crush his throat.

"I WON'T LET…" Suddenly she stopped, her voice trailing off as she fixed her furious stare on the figure that now lay prostrate beneath her.

When he had flipped onto his back, the ever present shadows that seemed to trail him wherever he went had pulled back, almost as if they were fleeing him in his moment of weakness. The heavy hood that covered his face had fallen away too, and for the first time Callisto found herself staring down at Mortius' face.

It was pale.

That was the first thing she noticed. Too pale really, his skin a chalk-like white, as if he had not truly seen sunlight his entire life. His features had an almost corpse like caste to them. They were thin and haggard, the pallid skin pulled tight across his narrow skull, yet still marked by long lines of age. His eyes, closed now, were little more than sunken, grey rimmed pits, and his mouth was a thin slit, lipless and downturned. His hair was dark, almost jet black, but it hung limp and lifeless to his shoulders. A long pink scar ran horizontally across his slim sharp nose, and the skin around his throat was puckered and withered, an old injury that most closely resembled a rope burn from a hangman's noose.

Slowly, she began to lower the shield, and for a moment the anger raging inside her sputtered. It had been so easy to hate him when he was little more than a monster out of nightmare. Now though, he was revealed as nothing more than a man, one whose suffering was writ large across his flesh, and for the first time in her adult life, Callisto found it difficult to hate someone.

"What  happened  to you?" she whispered almost to herself.

Suddenly, Mortius' eyes whipped open, narrow dark orbs filled to the brim with ice cold fury. With a single fluid twist, he rolled onto his side, his legs lashing out and scissoring hers from beneath her. As she hit the ground, she tucked and rolled, coming up just in time to see Mortius bearing down on her, his hood still thrown back, his narrow mouth set in a grim expression.

Callisto flung herself forward to meet him, but this time he did not dance aside, or back or otherwise try to toy with her. Her first punch connected only with his forearm, and he turned the blow aside easily, his hand gripping her arm tightly and twisting it up behind her back. Before she could even cry out in pain, his other hand reached out and caught her by the throat, his fingers tightening coldly around her windpipe.

She gagged hard as she felt her feet leave the floor, Mortius lifting her into the air, one handed and by her neck, as if she weighed no more than a sack of feathers.

"I was betrayed!" he hissed, carrying her over to the edge of the stone platform, the Pneuma's smooth, glass like surface letting off its sickly glow behind her. "Betrayed by the very same masters you now give your allegiance to! Why do you serve them? In the end, they will discard you, the same way one does a weapon with a blunted edge. You will be cast aside, without thought or compassion, as they once did to me!"

For a moment his grip slackened, allowing her to gulp in a pained lungful of air.

"My... heart... bleeds... for..." She managed to hiss, only to have the rest of her jibe cut short by a strangled gasp as Mortius squeezed harder once more.

In response, she kicked and struggled futilely against him, even going so far as to gnash her teeth at him in a vain attempt to bite at the hand that held her. Slowly but surely, he extended the arm holding her out until she was completely beyond the stone platform, her legs dangling over the lake below. Her eyes rolled downward toward the disgusting yellow mass of Pneuma, its putrid sulfuric stench filling her senses, and she felt her stomach turn with nausea. Mortius was slowly choking her, and she could feel the creeping blackness of unconsciousness crawling at the edges of her awareness.

In desperation, she turned her attention back to Mortius. She had to get free before she blacked out! Hammering her fists desperately against his sinewy arm, she redoubled her furious but ineffective kicking, her erratic movements causing her to swing dangerously in Mortius' grasp. Still, his grip did not falter, and she might as well have been pounding her fists against stone for all the good it did her.

Then, surprisingly, as if he were reconsidering killing her, Mortius began to draw her back toward him, his grip loosening, and his head cocking slightly as he did so.

"Perhaps Pelion was not so wrong about you as I thought," he said quietly, almost to himself, as if he were studying her. "Maybe you are not entirely worthless.  Maybe  you could be of use to our Lord after all."

Despite his hand clenched around her throat, Callisto still managed to spit defiantly into his eye.

"That's what I think of you and your 'Lord'!" she managed to sneer out around his vice like grip.

Mortius lifted a hand to his face, wiping away the globule of saliva with his free hand, and flicking it to one side with a tired, disdainful sigh.

"I guess that means we'll never know then, will we?" he said, and with the that, Callisto felt the muscles in his arm tense as he hurled her away from him.

Suddenly free from his grasp, she arced out backward over the lake, her arms and legs pinwheeling wildly against the empty air. For a single dreadful moment, she seemed to hang at the apex of her flight, the world around her almost perfectly still, standing in stark contrast to the rage still burning inside her. Then, with a singular cry of pure, impotent fury, she plummeted, the Pneuma rushing up to meet her like the gateway to Tartarus itself.

The surface of the lake was hard and unyielding, and the impact drove what little air was left in her lungs rushing out of her. She gasped, winded, and the moment her mouth was open, she felt the filthy glass like liquid close over her head, filling her mouth and nostrils with a strange cloying taste. Even submerged beneath the surface as she was, somewhere at the corners of hearing, that dark mocking laughter that had taunted her for so long sounded again, clear, sharp and strong.

Her final thoughts before impenetrable darkness overwhelmed her were of Leonidas, and of how badly she had failed.

*****

Ithius cursed loudly when he banged his head for what seemed like the hundredth time as he descended through the tunnel. The ride out of the city had been simpler, if a touch slower, than he had expected. He had only needed to make a few short detours to slip through the enclosing net of Demosthenes' men as they moved through the city, tracking down any Helots who had not already fled as they went. Once he was beyond the city walls and out of Helot Town, he had made better time. The open countryside had been emptied of Spartan patrols by Demosthenes' little purge, and it had not taken him long to reach the lands that had once belonged to Soriacles.

He had only been out to Soriacles' farm on a couple of occasions, but he remembered the landscape well, and had already figured out that the most likely location for the tomb would be somewhere in the forest that bordered his fields, and that also backed onto the foothills of the mountains less than a mile away.

The dead bodies littering a small clearing around the mouth of a cave not that deep into the forest itself had been more than ample evidence of Callisto's passing. Judging by the footprints in the dirt around the cave mouth, three people had gone into the cave following the fight, but as of yet, no one had come back out. He had not hesitated in following them in. There was too much at stake now for him To turn back. Not only was the fate of his own people hanging in the balance, but if Monocles were to be believed, the fate of all of Greece as well.

He had been stymied for a brief moment when the tunnel had split into two, but a strange, noxious odour hanging in the air had made his decision for him. At every junction or split in the tunnel, he could smell it, and it had led him, deeper and deeper below the earth, until now as he rounded a final corner in the tunnel and was faced with a large ragged hole cut through the tunnel wall and into a vast chamber beyond.

Cautiously, he stepped through, the torch he was carrying to light his way extended in front of him. At the same time he reached back, unlimbering his sword and clutching it one handed. Like Callisto had doubtless been before him, he was confronted with a huge open cavern lit by flickering torchlight, and filled with marble Grecian pillars and Spartan statuary. It did not take him long to see that something had gone terribly wrong though. Toward the centre of the chamber, there lay a body, clad in the same crimson robes as the bodies at the tunnel entrance. They were the same robes as those worn by the Followers. Maybe Callisto and Monocles had been right after all. A foot or so away from the body lay what he assumed to be that same body's head, cleaved neatly at the neck by something long, thin and razor sharp.

He clutched his sword tighter, eyeing the shadows warily as he stepped out onto the tomb's main floor. All around him was still and silence.

He stepped up to the body, nudging the head over gently with the toe of his boot. It rolled to one side, revealing a face that, thankfully, he did not recognise. His eyes narrowed thoughtfully. What had happened here? He had matched blades with Callisto, and this beheading was not her style. Something about it was too neat, too passionless and surgical, and almost certainly too quick. If Callisto were to kill someone, he knew that she would relish it a lot more and that the victim would be a lot longer in their dying.

He glanced around looking for any further signs of what had taken place, and was surprised to see Monocles' mercenary assistant slumped against a pillar a little further down the line columns toward a large stone platform. Athelis, he believed the man's name was. Like the rest of the chamber, he was still and unmoving, his head lolling forward so that his chin met his chest.

Ithius crossed to him hurriedly, placing his sword to one side as he checked for a pulse. Athelis' response was to groan, as if awakening from a month long drinking binge.

"Do you have to paw at me like that?" he moaned without opening his eyes. "Your hands are cold."

Ithius breathed a sigh of relief and bent to retrieve his sword.

"What happened here?" he asked as the other man opened his eyes blearily. "Where's Callistio?"

"Here?" Athelis said, his words schlurred and groggy. "Where's here?"

Slowly he looked to either side of him, taking in his surroundings through a fog of semi consciousness.

Suddenly, a look of horrified recollection spread across his face, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates as he did his best to struggle to his feet.

"Callisto!" he gasped, swaying dizzily as he managed to get upright, even having to go so far as to reach out a hand to steady himself against the pillar he had been slumped against. His eyes darted wildly around the chamber "She was... we were..."

He rounded on Ithius sharply.

"Where is she!?" he demanded.

Ithius rolled his eyes, doing his best to stay patient. Already this was taking too long.

"That's what I'm asking you," he said. "I tracked you both here to try and find her. You don't know where she is either?"

"I don't..." Athelis began, then stopped short, a dark frown spreading across his face, his eyes seeing but not really looking as he tried to remember what had happened. "We were fighting... something... I can't..."

Slowly he looked up to meet Ithius' patient gaze.

"...A monster," he finished, a note of dread tinging his voice. "We were fighting a monster."

Ithius cocked an eyebrow at him doubtfully.

"A monster?" he said. "Here?"

Athelis fixed Ithius with a steady glare.

"Dark cave, creepy torchlight, lots of shadows," he said scornfully, motioning to the chamber around them. "Looks like just the place to meet monsters to me."

Ithius turned away, doing his best to ignore the other man's sarcasm.

"Are you always this unhelpful?" he asked, lifting his torch to extend the circle of light wider around them as he peered out into dim flickering torchlight all about them, searching for that familiar blonde head of hair. Still he could see no trace of her.

"I'm a mercenary," Athelis replied matter-of-factly. "People usually pay for my aid. I'm not used to giving it freely."

Ithius span to face the other man, his patience beginning to ware dangerously thin.

"We don't have time for your attitude!" he snapped. "Tell me what happened here!"

"I already did!" Athelis snapped right back at him. "We were fighting a monster! Some… t hing…  out of the Followers' temple. We fought it there last night as well. It looks like a man, but it moves in the shadows like some kind of... I don't know... Like a ghost I suppose."

"The Followers?" Ithius frowned. If everything Monocles had told him was true, it would certainly make sense for them to be involved here. But a monster...

"Why didn't you tell Leonidas any of this?" he asked.

"Callisto tried," Athelis replied. "But he was a little bit distracted at the time, what with a pending Persian invasion and being stabbed in the back by his best friend into the bargain."

Ithius stiffened at that, and Athelis gave him a derisive nod.

"That's right," he sneered. "I remember who you are. What do you even want to find Callisto for? If I recall correctly, didn't she threaten to gut you if she ever saw you again?"

Ithius turned away with another heavy sigh.

"It was 'cut your heart out and feed it to the crows' actually," he replied, beginning to walk up the length of the chamber, sweeping his torch back and forth to try and cast as much light as he could into the chambers' shadowed corners, "and I was kind of hoping she might have gotten over that by now."

Behind him he heard Athelis give a dark chuckle.

"In half a day!?" he said incredulously. "Are we even thinking of the same woman here? She's not exactly good at letting go of grudges. Just ask Xena."

"If I ever meet her, I'll be sure to do just that," Ithius replied distractedly.

In truth, he had not really given much thought to what he would say when he found Callisto. He had just decided to cross that bridge when he came to it. Now that Athelis had reminded him of it though, he could feel a knot of tension in his stomach. It was not really the physical threat of her that he feared. Not that much anyway. He had beaten her once, and was reasonably sure he could do so again. She was more predictable than she liked to admit. Her rage made her so. No, it was more the idea of her as an enemy that unnerved him. She had proved, on more than one occasion, that she was bloodthirsty and relentless when she set her mind to something, and the idea of having someone like that devoting themselves to trying to make him suffer was enough to give even Ithius pause.

He frowned. Up ahead of them was a raised stone platform, with some kind of sarcophagus placed upon it.

"The tomb of Lycurgus," Athelis said, stepping up beside him. "At least we were pretty sure that's what it is. We were just getting ready to leave when that  thing  attacked us."

"What's that?" Ithius asked, motioning with his torch toward the strange yellow light coming from just beyond it.

"A lake," Athelis said.

"That glows?" Ithius replied.

"Callisto said it was Pneuma," Athelis explained. "Some weird stuff used by the Oracles."

Ithius' frown deepened and he began to make his way across the chamber. Something about that sickly yellow glow unnerved him tremendously. Athelis followed close behind him, eyeing the shadows warily as he went.

"We should be getting out of here," he said, and for the first time, Ithius could hear a trace of nervousness in the other man's voice.

"Not until we find out what happened to Callisto," he replied firmly.

Athelis glanced back over his shoulder toward the ragged hole in the wall they had had to enter through, then looked back to Ithius and nodded resolutely. His face was still a fearful pale though.

"You never answered my question before," he said, trying to brush aside his moment's hesitation. "Why are you suddenly looking for Callisto?"

"Because I need her help," Ithius said quietly. "We – the Helots I mean – have all been betrayed."

"Well fancy that," Athelis said sarcastically.

Ithius rounded on him angrily.

"Now is not the time for sarcasm!" he snarled reaching out to snare the other man angrily by his jerkin. "My people are dying! Demosthenes and his soldiers are wiping them out to the very last man, woman and child! I'm going to need Callisto and Leonidas' help if I'm to stand any chance of stopping it"

"Maybe your people deserved it," Athelis sneered back at him. "Did you ever consider that? They didn't want to pay the real cost of freedom; cowards to a man, each and every one of them, and now they are reaping the rewards."

Ithius shoved him away, incensed by the other man's words.

"You can't honestly believe that..." he said incredulously.

"I think there's always a price to pay," Athelis replied tightly. "You try and cheat on it, and nasty people come knocking at your door."

"You've had those nasty people at your door I take it?" Ithius sneered at him.

"I'm the one doing the knocking," Athelis replied bluntly.

Ithius turned away from him in disgust. What was he doing down here, in the dark, with this sneering husk of a man? Helots were being murdered by the score and here he was playing at adventurer! He needed to be doing something – anything – besides this...

Pausing, he took a deep breath to calm himself and then glanced back over his shoulder at Athelis. The mercenary was watching him steadily.

"Let's just find her," he said. "The sooner we do, the sooner we can be out of here."

He did not wait for Athelis' reply. Instead, he strode off up the tomb's main floor, mounting the steps that ran up to the stone platform and making his way quickly across it to get a better look at the lake Athelis had been talking about.

The moment he caught sight of it, he froze. A familiar figure was floating on the tide of Pneuma not far away. He'd found Callisto.

She was bobbing on the surface of the lake, her face up turned toward the distant roof overhead, her eyes closed and unseeing. Her hair, face and body were soaked in Pneuma; the thick yellow liquid shining nauseously in the dim torch light. Clearly she had been completely submerged in the stuff, only to drift back to the surface later. Ithius felt his heart sink at the sight of her. Her skin was a deathly pale, her expression flat and unreadable, her body completely motionless.

From this distance, he could not even tell if she was breathing.

"Callisto..." he heard Athelis breathe next to him. Ithius turned to regard the mercenary. Had he really just heard a note of concern in his voice?

"Well?" Athelis continued, the note of worry still edging his tone as he turned to look Ithius in the eye. "We've found her. Now how do we get her out of there?"

"Over there," Ithius said pointing to their left and toward a small ferry attached to a guide rope that ran across the surface of the lake and over to a distant lump of misshapen stone. "We use that."

The two of them moved quickly. Ithius clambering down into the ferry and slicing the guide rope loose in a single clean cut of his sword. Holding on to his end of the severed rope, he handed the other end up to Athelis, who in turn used it to walk the small boat along the edge of the ledge above.

As Ithius drew near to where Callisto floated, he motioned to Athelis to stop, then, still holding his end of the rope, he braced his arm against the cold stone wall that ran up to the platform above and shoved hard, sending the boat drifting out over the lake in Callisto's direction. Even now, from so near a distance, he still could not tell if she were alive or dead. Tugging on the rope, he felt Athelis do the same at the other end, and the boat came to gentle stop, just within arms reach of Callisto's prostrate form. Being careful not to drop the rope, he tied it off against the boat's aft mooring hook, and squatted down low at the boats edge. Cautiously, he braced his hands against the wooden rim that marked the boat's edge and leaned out over the Pneuma. The wood creaked and the boat rolled gently beneath him. The stench of the sickly yellow lake filled his senses, making him sway dizzyingly, and for a brief, horrifying moment, he thought the small boat was going to capsize and dump him face first into the mire.

Clenching his jaws together, his stomach muscles tensed as he leaned still further out, praying for the boat to remain steady. Callisto was only just within reach, and with a deep breath, he managed to snare her by one of her leather shoulder guards to drag her closer to the boat so that he could get a better grip on her. As he reached beneath her arms, the Pneuma closed slickly around his hands, and he could barely suppress an involuntary shudder at the feel of it. The yellow liquid was warm and clammy, almost like human flesh coated in stale sweat, and the longer his hands were immersed in it, the more he could feel his fingers beginning to tingle.

Doing his best to ignore the strange sensation, he heaved Callisto – worryingly limp and unresisting – into the boat. Even with her slim build, he still found himself somewhat surprised by how little she actually weighed. It was as if the Pneuma itself had stolen something from her.

As he lowered her into the bottom of the boat, he pressed his fingers to her neck, feeling for the telltale pulse of blood in her veins. For a moment all was stillness, and then he felt it, a slight murmur almost beyond sensation. He sat back on his haunches, breathing a sigh of relief as he did so.

"How is she?" he heard Athelis call out to him from across the lake.

"Alive!" Ithius shouted back, "But just barely. I don't know what this stuff did to her, but it's not good! We should..."

A faint groan from behind him cut Ithius short. He twisted on his haunches to see Callisto stirring, her eyes flitting back and forth beneath closed lids.

"What is it?" Athelis called to him. "What's going on?"

Ithius held up a hand for silence, then turned, moving quickly to crouch by her side.

"Callisto?" he said, softly, as if speaking to someone waking from sleep.

At the sound of his voice, her eyes flashed open, blazing furiously, and like a striking snake, she was on him, her fingers curled into vicious hooks as she drove him back into the bottom of the boat, closing her hands around his throat in an attempt to throttle him.

"YOU!" she snarled at him, her breath coming in tight, rapid grunts and her eyes shining bright with mania as she squeezed his throat tightly. Ithius choked hard, still caught by surprise by her sudden attack.

"I failed!" she continued, her voice both furious, and on the cusp of misery. "We all did! And it's all because of you!"

Ithius' hands reached for hers, his fingers clawing desperately at his throat as he attempted to peel her steel grip loose, but it was no good. She seemed intent on wringing the life out of him, and a thick grey fog seemed to be settling at the edges of his consciousness as his lungs ached for relief.

"Now he'll die," Callisto was hissing, digging her thumbs hard into his windpipe. "They all will! And the dead... Even the dead aren't safe! Leonidas! Atrix! Silas! My family! None of them! He'll be free and then... and then..."

Suddenly her eyes widened, a look of stark terror lighting in them and she collapsed back away from him, her hands releasing his throat as if it were red hot steel.

Ithius gasped for air, momentarily managing to forget the wretched fetid stink all about him as he gulped down huge lungfuls, his chest heaving with each fresh inhale. Slowly he managed to pull himself back upright, rubbing tenderly at his throat as he eyed Callisto.

She was slumped back against the boats prow now, her breathing becoming more laboured, as she stared past him into the gloom of the chamber.

"Callisto..." Ithius tried again, saying her name as softly and gently as he could manage. Her eyes shifted back to him, slower this time, and when they met his, there was no recognition in them. It was as if she were staring at a stranger.

"She's coming..." she managed between heavy struggling breaths. "...coming now... and I can't... can't fight any..."

Her eyelids fluttered, and Ithius could tell she was drifting back into unconsciousness.

"...anymore..." she continued, her head beginning to sag as if it weighed a great deal more than her neck could support. "...tired now... so very tired... and scared..."

Ithius moved cautiously to her side, reaching out a hand to brush tenderly against her arm. She shifted, the way sleeping people do when they are disturbed in a fitful sleep.

"...mama..." she murmured quietly, "...why's it so dark... didn't mean to steal the fruit... please... make it... make it... light again..."

And then her head, slumped forward, her eyes finally drifting closed again as her breaths became long but shallow. Tentatively, Ithius reached out for her neck again. Once again the pulse was there, feeble, but regular. He let out another low breath, then turned back to the guide rope, unfastening it and giving it a tug for Athelis to bring to him back to the shore.

It took less than a minute for Athelis to reel he and Callisto back in, the boat bumping softly against the stone ledge with a soft wooden thud.

Ithius grabbed Callisto and hoisted her across his shoulder, straightening carefully in the boat as he did so. As with when he had pulled her out of the Pneuma, she was completely limp, the only sign that she was alive being the slight rise and fall of her chest.

"Give me a hand will you," he said, lifting Callisto up toward Athelis.

"What happened back there?" The other man asked, leaning down from the platform above and taking her beneath the arms. With surprising tenderness, he hoisted her way from Ithius, and up onto the platform. Now free to use his hands, Ithius reached up, grabbing the rim of the ledge above and pulling himself up after her, his feet scrabbling against the stone wall for better purchase as he went.

"Oh nothing," he said as he heaved himself up onto the ledge to kneel next to Athelis who was in turn leaning over Callisto, a concerned frown etched across his forehead. "I pulled her out of the Pneuma, she tried to strangle me, you know, the way people always do to one another."

Athelis glanced at him.

"Not forgiven you then yet?" he said sarcastically.

Ithius rubbed at his throat, and swallowed tenderly.

"Apparently not," he said.

Athelis snorted and turned his attention back to Callisto.

"What do you think's wrong with her?" he asked.

"I have no idea," Ithius admitted, his frown of concern now matching Athelis' as he looked down at Callisto. She was still slick with the Pneuma and her eyes were flicking rapidly back and forth beneath her eyelids.

Athelis leaned in close to her, and Ithius placed a warning hand on the other man's shoulder.

"I'd be careful if I were you," he said. "Unless you  want  her to throttle you."

Athelis glanced back at him, then shrugged.

"I'm not the one she threatened to kill," he said, and reached out to her face, peeling back her eyelid gently with his thumb.

Her eye did not stop moving, darting wildly left and right, the pupils huge and badly dilated. With a low grunt, he released the eyelid, leaving the eye to snap shut again as he reached out to check the second one. The result was much the same as the first.

"We need to get her to a healer," he said emphatically. "There must be someone back at the city who can..." he trailed off as he noticed Ithius shaking his head at him.

"What?" he de manded indignantly.

"We'll never get back to the city," Ithius said. "I'm a wanted man now, and the Ephors and Demosthenes are still after her for the death of the Persian Ambassador, not to mention the fact that most of the Inner City healers would be Spartans, and any trained Helot healers, Demosthenes will already be hunting down and trying to kill."

"So remind me again what exactly your plan was in the first place," Athelis snapped back. "How were you intending on getting the Spartans to help Leonidas if you didn't even think you could get back into..."

"I DON'T KNOW!" Ithius shouted at the other man, the despair that had been growing inside him ever since he had come here finally beginning to get the better of him. "I have no idea, alright! I hadn't thought that far ahead. First and foremost, I was trying to find her, and now I have, and she's..."

He gestured toward her prostrate figure sadly.

"...I mean... look at her," was all he could think of to say, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

"So that's it then?" Athelis replied, "You're giving up?"

"What else would you have me do!?" Ithius snapped at him. "It's over! Your Follower's have won! My people are being massacred in droves, and Leonidas, the one man who could have stopped it is, at this very minute, marching to his doom, and all because of me! Meanwhile the only person who seems to know exactly who these people even are, what they want or how to deal with them, is lying unconscious on the floor in front of me! You'll excuse me if I haven't exactly planned for this particular set of circumstances."

Athelis just squatted beside Callisto, regarding Ithius evenly as he did so.

"So what should we do then?" He asked as Ithius' tirade finally subsided.

Ithius glanced at him, then fixed his eyes on Callisto. She had known so much of what was going on; the truth behind the schemes in Sparta, and it seemed that these Followers were lurking at the heart of it all, like a dark and sinister spider, waiting at the fringes of its web to crawl in and suck the life out of those they snared.

Years ago, when he had trained with Leonidas for battle, he remembered the classes and lectures on military doctrine and strategic thinking that Leonidas' father had subjected them both to. He had been told then that to know your enemy, or even indeed your friend, was the key to being able to predict them, and, if necessary, defeat them. Try as he might though, he still could not figure these 'Followers' out. Apparently they wanted to free Cronus, but to do so, they needed to start a war. Not the war between Spartans and Persians as they had originally suspected, but instead a war that would pit Greek against Greek... Except everything they did seemed to indicate the opposite? Monocles had been convinced of this though. The question remained of how they even planned to do it? What was their next move?

He gave a frustrated grunt. He just did not know enough, and the one person who might have been able to help him was now seemingly comatose less than a few feet away. Without that knowledge, without  her  knowledge, or even the knowledge of Leonidas to help guide his actions, he felt lost and adrift; aimless and with no real direction to be heading in.

He let out another deep sigh and reached down to Callisto, then, straightening and slinging her gently across his shoulders, he turned and began to make for the exit. He would think of something. He  had  to think of something. Just not here, and not now.

"First of all," he said, "we get out of here. This place is starting to make me feel uncomfortable."

He meant it too. The shadows around the chamber were beginning to lengthen eerily as one by one, the torches around the tomb seemed to be guttering and dying, while on the surface above, day was no doubt beginning to creep toward night.

"And after that?" Athelis asked, falling into step beside him, a strange notched dagger appearing in his hand as he eyed the shadows warily.

"After that?" Ithius responded, answering the other man's question with a rhetorical one of his own.

"After that, we pray to whatever gods will listen to us for a miracle..." he continued as he reached the ragged hole in the wall through which he had entered earlier. Slowly, he turned to take in the tomb of Lycurgus one last time. The eerie yellow glow of the Pneuma glared back at him starkly in the dim light, and he suddenly became keenly aware of Callisto's dead weight pressing down against his shoulder.

"...because I think a miracle is exactly what we're going to need," he finished.

Chapter Twenty: Soul, Strength and Faith

Sentos was sagging wearily in his saddle by the time he rounded the final street corner, and the city's council chambers loomed hard against a dull grey afternoon sky. His horse whinnied softly at the sight of the stark, imposing building, and he patted its neck in a soothing manner.

"Come on girl," he said. "Just a little further now." The animal snorted in response and moved forward at an exhausted plodding trot, it's bone numbing fatigue a mirror of his own.

The ride back to the city from Thermopylae had been taxing, a restless headlong charge north, but Leonidas had ordered him to make all speed to inform the Ephors of the events that had taken place there. As the dull clip-clop of hooves echoed off the buildings, more memories of Leonidas came flooding back to him. His King had been lying wounded atop a blanket beside a roaring camp fire, his brow soaked with sweat despite the chill of the night air as he gripped imploringly at Sentos' arm, and even the recollection of it still made the Spartan captain want to weep.

Had he had the choice he would never have returned. He would have remained at the Hot Gates, alongside his comrades in arms, closer than brothers to him, and faced the Persian horde that had descended on them. He would have fought to his last breath if his King had not ordered him away. That order  had  been given though, and he had had little choice but to obey. He was a Spartan after all, and in the end, was duty not more important than his own personal glory. Thermopylae would be remembered, of that he was certain. Songs would be sung, and tales would be told in the grandest Spartan tradition, but Sentos himself would not be a part of them. Instead, wounded as he was, and of little use in actual battle, the role of messenger had fallen to him.

The ache in his thigh throbbed in tandem with the ache of misery in his gut, and he glanced down at the nasty horizontal slash that had cut across his thigh. Held together with thick, ugly strands of twine, the wound was beginning to mend, but slowly, and he doubted he would ever be able to place his weight fully on the leg again.

With a disgusted grunt, he reined in his horse before the council chambers. What use was a lame warrior to anyone? When the time came for him to be remembered after he had crossed the Styx, what would people see in their mind's eye? Sentos the first captain to King Leonidas? Sentos the great warrior who had stood shoulder to shoulder with the rest of the brave three hundred at Thermopylae? Or would they instead remember him for what he would soon be? Sentos, the limping, shambling figure, who had lived far beyond his usefulness?

He sat astride his horse like that for a little longer, lost in his own thoughts, until eventually the animal stirred and he looked about himself curiously. Normally there would be Helot attendants already emerging from the outer chambers, ready to take his horse and gear from him. Today though, there was no one. Not entirely sure what was going on, he dismounted from the animal, wincing as he was forced to place his weight on his wounded leg. He gripped the animal's bridle, doing his best to maintain his balance as he steadied himself, then turned to look around once more. Still nothing moved.

Now he was thinking about it, he remembered the long ride through Helot town, and how strangely quiet that had seemed as well. The usual crowds of people going about their daily business had been entirely absent, and the only people he had been able to catch sight of were members of that odd religious order that had been growing in popularity of late.

"Hello?" he called loudly, his voice echoing off the stone. "I seek an audience with the Ephors. Is there no one to attend me?"

At first there was no answer, and Sentos was about to stride off up the steps to the enter the council hall himself, armed or no, when the front doors to the building opened to meet him instead.

A young soldier, dressed in the blue cloak of one of Demosthenes' men emerged, hurrying quickly across the open ground toward him.

"Finally!" Sentos sighed, "Someone to..."

The man waved his hand in a chopping motion that indicated for him to be silent.

"You should leave," he hissed cautiously as he drew nearer. "Right now, before anyone sees you!"

Sentos squared his shoulders, incensed at the lesser ranked man's attempts to give him orders.

"I will do no such thing," he replied. "Not until I have spoken with the Ephors and relayed..."

"Just stop!" the man cut him off sharply. "King Demosthenes already knows you're coming. He even knows what news you bring, though I don't know how. He wants you in there, so that he can use you against them."

"Them?" Sentos said, bewildered by the man's words. What in Tartarus was going on, and what was this Spartan jabbering about? He had not journeyed all this way to be met only with riddles and nonsense.

"The Ephors," the man replied. "A lot has changed since you departed captain, and none of it for the better. Please just go, before you are..."

"Orestes!" called another voice from the doors, and the Spartan in front of him sagged slightly.

"...seen," Orestes muttered under his breath, before turning to face the heavy set soldier standing at the council doors.

"What are you playing at?" The man shouted at him. "You were sent to fetch Captain Sentos, not stand there gossiping like some old tavern maid."

"I was just bringing him now Captain Gracus," Orestes said, his voice deferential and respectful, but with an odd hint of tension around its edges.

"Well be quick about it," Gracus replied. "The proceedings are about to begin, and King Demosthenes wants him present before they do. You've already failed our King once this week, and he was lenient then. Another failure would be a further black mark against your name, and I doubt he would be so forgiving a second time."

With that, the big man, Gracus, turned and stalked off back into the building, leaving Orestes to curse softly under his breath. He cast a glance back over his shoulder at Sentos.

"You should have left while you had the chance," he said before stalking off toward the waiting double doors.

"Now..." he shook his head regretfully, "...now I don't know what's going to happen."

"I don't understand," Sentos said, moving as quickly as he could to catch up with the younger man, the wound in his leg complaining bitterly at such rough treatment. "What's going on? Why are there no Helot attendees? Why are you trying to disobey your King's orders?"

Orestes stopped and turned to face him again.

"Have you ever been frightened?" He asked unexpectedly.

"I am a Spartan," Sentos replied defensively, his back turning rigid at the strange question. "I have learned to control my fears since I was a small boy."

"That wasn't what I asked," Orestes said.

"I have felt fear many times," Sentos said impatiently. "But never to such a degree that it has impacted my ability to do my duty."

"Then all I can say is, you're very lucky," Orestes replied, "because right now, I'm so terrified, I want to run screaming for the hills."

With that, he span on his heel and began to march back toward the council chambers, Sentos falling in close behind.

As he entered he moved to hand the sword buckled to his side to one of the guards lining the entry passage, but the man waved him away. Sentos frowned darkly. Carrying weapons on the council floor was only allowed when the Ephors were to sit in judgement of the most heinous and violent criminals. Captured warlords and the worst of the city's violent criminals were the usual sort, and for a moment he wondered if Demosthenes had managed to capture Callisto. He had not quite understood King Leonidas' fascination with the woman, or the lengths to which he had gone to protect her from facing Spartan justice, but it was not his place to question the orders of his King. His duty was only to follow them, no matter what they were.

His idea of this being about Callisto was dashed almost immediately as he stepped out onto the council chamber floor. Instead of seeing the familiar form of the blonde warrior woman standing bound and awaiting a sentence at the centre of the council floor as he had expected, he was stunned to see King Demosthenes himself standing there, unbound, but no less on trial. He was surrounded by a circle of guards in blue cloaks, apparently assigned to guard him should he attempt to escape. Their leader was the heavy set Spartan Sentos had first spied only minutes before by the name of Gracus. Seated all about the rows of stone benches were more of Demosthenes' own men, all armed as was the custom for the trial of violent individuals. A smaller contingent of soldiers, this time wearing the red cloaks of Leonidas' soldiers that matched Sentos' own, stood attendance to the Ephors, their spears held sharpened and ready. Even the Ephors themselves were armed, their ceremonial daggers lying unsheathed in their laps, rather than hidden within the folds of their robes.

Sentos suddenly felt uneasy, although he was uncertain as to why. Perhaps it was the air of tension that stretched across the chamber tighter than a drum skin, or maybe it was the almost complete absence of the red cloaked soldiers of Leonidas. Beside himself and the few men guarding the Ephors, there were perhaps only ten or so more present; a tiny number when set against the two hundred or so of Demosthenes men. Those ten were seated around Leonidas' unoccupied throne, and all of them were watching the stands around them warily.

The sight of the empty throne stirred the guilt in the pit of Sentos' stomach, but he did his best to ignore it. He still had his duty to perform and he could not afford to be distracted now.

"Captain Sentos," the oldest Ephor by the name of Nestus said, standing and gesturing to the floor in front of him. "You bring us word from your King's ill considered foray at Thermopylae I understand."

Sentos stepped forward until he stood separate from either Orestes or Demosthenes, a quiet but surprised series of murmurs echoing down from the stands at the sight of him. Sentos could hardly blame them for it. His read cloak was torn and travel stained, his armour dented and covered in dust and bloodstains. He had not stopped in his head long dash North to collect himself. The news he carried was too grave, and the time too short.

"I do," he said, unsure of any formal method of address, having never spoken on the council floor before. "I beg the council's leave to speak."

"You need not beg of us my friend," Nestus replied. "We do not approve of your King's decisions, but you were only doing you duty to him by carrying them out."

"Duty," he heard Demosthenes sneer angrily at that. "What would any of you know of duty!"

"Not a word from you!" Nestus snapped, whirling on the spot to point furiously at Spartan King, his ire sudden and fierce. "We will get to you in due time, then you will have the chance to say your peace. Until then though, you will conduct yourself with the appropriate decorum and be silent!

Sentos watched as Demosthenes gave a slight nod, as if he were granting them a favour rather than following an instruction. He did not speak again however. Instead his back straightened and he lifted his chin imperiously. Nestus' response was to glare at him. Demosthenes did not even seem to notice. Eventually the old Ephor turned his attention back to Sentos, and with seemingly great effort, managed to force an encouraging smile across his face.

"We would gladly hear any news that you bring us," he said earnestly. "What has transpired at Thermopylae, and what has become of Leonidas?"

Sentos could not help but notice the absence of Leonidas' title when the old Ephor spoke. It was an omission that made him bristle at the blatant disrespect on display. Nestus and the others may have been Ephors, but Leonidas  was  a King of Sparta. It was a position he had been born to, not a title he had been awarded, and nothing could strip that position from him. To speak of him as if he were anything less, as if he were just some common soldier, as Nestus had just done, was the height of insult. Sentos was not the only one in the room to take umbrage either. A low rumble of discontent ran through the assembled Spartans, and, strangely enough, the first hints of a smile began to tug at the corners of Demosthenes' mouth.

Frustrated, angry and confused as he was by everything going on around him, Sentos was not exactly sure how to continue. He stood in silence for a moment while nearby, some members of the audience he seemed to have unexpectedly acquired stirred uncomfortably.

Summoning up his courage, he took a deep breath and began to relay his tale as best as he could manage.

"We arrived at the Hot Gates after a hard day and night's march," he began. "The evening before our arrival, we made camp with the Athenian forces Leonidas had managed to secure an alliance with before our departure..."

Nearby, Demosthenes gave a disgusted snort, but remained silent. Sentos glanced at him curiously but did not allow the distraction to stop him.

"King Leonidas ordered us into the pass there at daybreak. We had our first encounter with the Persian forces not long after that."

Nestus lifted a hand to his beard, stroking it thoughtfully as he listened.

"Go on," he urged.

"For the first day, King Leonidas' strategy proved sound," Sentos said. He could still remember the feelings of exultation he had had, watching the Persians throw themselves at the Spartan line in wave after wave, only to crash futilely against their shields and spears like breakers against a cliff face. "The Persian forces were unable to break our lines, and the pass was held. The Athenians set traps and ambushes, staging hit and run raids in an attempt to thin the Persian numbers still further."

"If all was going so well, then why have only you returned?" Nestus asked, his voice filled with concern.

That same concern was echoed in the quiet whispers that went up from the Spartans gathered around the chamber. Sentos swallowed. His tongue seemed to fill his mouth more than usual and his throat had run bone dry as the memories began to turn painful.

"The second day, we did not fare so well," he said thickly. "In the morning we got word that Xerxes' elite, the Immortals, were taking to the field. A thousand of his best trained warriors marched against us as the sun rose. The Athenians were nervous about them, and many of the local farmers and fisherman who had sided with us fled when the news came down. A few remained however, willing to die to protect their lands and families."

"And..." Nestus prompted him.

"We held to the pass. Leonidas refused to be drawn out by their presence, despite the perhaps ill-considered advice of some of his officers." Sentos remembered the heated discussions well. He had wanted to break from the pass, to meet the Immortals on the open field and scatter them, believing that to do so would have shattered Persian morale in turn. Leonidas had stuck doggedly to the battle plan, refusing to let recklessness draw him from their apparently unassailable position in the pass.

" The first day has given us confidence,"  Sentos remembered him saying  "but even the cliffs by the sea give way to the ocean given enough time. Our men are already tired, and there is still no end in sight..."

His words had given Sentos pause then, and they continued to do so even now. There was indeed, still no end in sight.

"The Immortals were on us by mid-morning," he continued eventually. "We stopped their advance dead in its tracks, as we had all the others, but our casualties were beginning to mount. Our line was becoming too thin, too stretched, and the Persians just kept coming. By midafternoon, we no longer had enough men fit for battle to hold the entire pass. That was when the news came down that Xerxes himself had come out to face us."

Nestus and Demosthenes both stiffened at that. Strangely, it was Demosthenes who seemed worried, while Nestus seemed positively elated by the news.

"You engaged him in combat?" the old Ephor asked, trying to hide the anticipation in his voice. Sentos nodded.

"King Leonidas asked the Athenians to join us in a full charge into the Persian ranks. We would be the vanguard, the spear tip thrusting for the head of the serpent, while the Athenians would be our shield." He paused still able to remember the heady stench of sweat and blood in the heat of the battle, and the way his spear and sword arm had ached at the shoulder from the constant fighting. It had been the heaviest combat he had ever seen, and for the first time in his life, Sentos had felt the fear of death begin to uncoil in the pit of his stomach. Even now, the shame of that memory almost drove him to silence.

"And you killed him?" Demosthenes interrupted, his voice tight and even, his lips a thin pale line as the blood drained from them.

Sentos shook his head.

"We did not. The attack was a failure. The Immortals came on us in the heat of the battle, their numbers as strong as they had been that morning, as if they had never even lost a man. Their assault was withering, and the Athenians broke before it..."

A grim smile spread across Demosthenes' face at that. Sentos was bewildered by the reaction. It almost seemed that the man was revelling at the news of their defeat, as if it were exactly what he had wanted to hear all along. Regardless, Sentos had been ordered to inform them of all that had happened, and so he pressed on, doing his best to put the discomfort Demosthenes was causing him to one side.

"...As the Athenians will to fight failed, the battle began to turn against us," he continued flatly, reliving each terrible moment with crystal clarity in his mind's eye. "Leonidas led us on bravely despite the odds we faced, and we were within a spear's throw of Xerxes himself…"

The room had fallen a deathly silent now, as all waited with bated breath for his next words.

"...and that was when our King fell," he said, his voice cracking slightly at the memory. The room erupted in cries of both anguish and outrage. Nestus and the other Ephors glanced around the roaring hoard of Demosthenes' men uncomfortably, while Demosthenes himself looked on with a small, victorious smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

As the cries and anger began to die down, Sentos opened his mouth to speak again.

"The wound was grave, a sword thrust from an Immortal that took him through the side. At the time we thought it serious but not necessarily fatal. Still, it was clear that the battle was lost and we retired back to the pass, taking our King with us, and leaving theirs still drawing breath."

He sniffed slightly as he remembered the desperate rearguard they had fought as they had fallen back, the Immortals pressing hard upon their heels. It was then that he had taken the sword cut to the thigh that was beginning to throb mercilessly the longer he remained standing. He shifted his weight with a slight grimace of pain before continuing on.

"Upon our return to camp, we discovered the true extent of King Leonidas' injuries," he said, his voice heavy with the weight of misfortune he was about to pass on. "The wound was a mortal one, and even King Leonidas himself knew he would not survive the night. So, he gave what he considered his final orders. He said that the battle was lost, and commanded that the Athenians should withdraw while they still could, or else be utterly crushed by the Persians. He and the rest of his guard remained behind, to buy time for the Athenian retreat and to make the Persians pay dearly in blood and lives for every inch of ground they wished to take."

He paused glumly, his gaze dropping slowly to the floor in shame.

"I was ordered back to Sparta, the one voice that could relay what had taken place. I do not know what fate has befallen them since I departed."

"But I do," Demosthenes spoke up unexpectedly. Nestus shot him a silencing glare, but Demosthenes continued on regardless, turning to address the whole room. "Brave King Leonidas, and his noble three hundred, who so courageously rode out to face the enemies at our gates, are dead, betrayed to that fate by their own leaders, and now slaughtered to the very last man."

The assembled soldiers howled in dismay at the news, the room erupting in a cacophony of angry shouts and Sentos felt his stomach turn as the other man spoke. Was it really true? Was the last of Leonidas' three hundred men? We're the rest truly all dead?

"How do you know this?" he asked, forgetting the correct formalities of addressing a man of Demosthenes' rank. "I've come here straight from Thermopylae, without sleep or rest the entire time. News such as that could not have traveled ahead of me."

The Spartan King turned to face him, apparently not having noticed his lack of protocol.

"I have other..." he paused, as if searching for the words. "...Means," he said finally, and for a brief instant, Sentos thought he saw the lengthening shadows in the room flicker and twist unnaturally. Demosthenes was already turning back to the furious audience once more.

"Do not be overly saddened my friends!" he shouted up to them. "Their deaths have not been in vain! Xerxes' hordes have been shown the sheer force of the Spartan will for freedom, and even as we speak, they retreat, bloodied and battered to lick their wounds, and stare into a suddenly uncertain future."

The tone of the crowd changed gradually as he spoke, slowly beginning to fill with righteous cheers and shouted praise for Leonidas and his brave men. Out of the corner of his eye, Sentos noted Nestus and the Ephors shifting uncomfortably. They did not like what was happening here, and a strange churning feeling in his gut led Sentos to feel the same way. Something about all of this felt wrong... ugly... a mockery of grief, rather than a true reflection of it.

"Make no mistake though!" Demosthenes was continuing to shout over the cheering and roaring of the crowd, his own voice raising to a fever pitch. "Xerxes and his countless armies are not defeated. Leonidas' sacrifice has bought us only time, but no more than that. We must not waste what he has given us! We must seize it now, and with both hands if we are to forge..."

"SILENCE!" Nestus bellowed above the chaos, and the result was as if someone had thrown cold water over a hysterical mob. Slowly he began to descend the steps, his long robes rasping dryly against the cold stone floor. Demosthenes watched him approach, a narrow smile edging his face as Nestus drew to a halt in front of him.

The two stood in silence for a moment, and then Nestus lashed out, his hand catching Demosthenes across the jaw in a dismissive, back handed slap that cracked loudly in the sudden stillness. The smile never left Demosthenes' face, but his eyes turned cold and calculating.

The deathly hush continued to fill the room as Nestus drew himself up to his not inconsiderable height.

"This council did not give you permission to speak," he hissed icily.

"I no longer recognise this council's authority over me," Demosthenes replied.

"As you did not recognise it on the mustering fields?" Nestus said. Sentos frowned at that.

"What happened?" he whispered back over his shoulder to Orestes, but the other man gave a tight shake of his head, indicating for him to stay silent.

"I followed the laws of Sparta," Demosthenes' reply was firm and unwavering. "They were traitors to us and to our city. King Leonidas ordered them to war, and they disobeyed."

"Wanton butchery is not the law!" Nestus snapped, his voice cracking loudly. "They were not soldiers! Most were not even armed!"

"Spartan law is clear nevertheless," Demosthenes said. "Traitors must be executed, and as King, it was my blood born duty to issue that command."

Nestus took a deep, calming breath, but his hands were still clenched into fists at his sides.

"You are no King," he said, eyeing the bronze clasp at the other man's shoulder. "Leonidas was worth ten of you."

"And where is he now?" Demosthenes sneered back. "Dead, and gone, and by your order."

Nestus did not answer, instead turning his back on the other man and returning to his seat on the long bench among the other Ephors. Demosthenes watched him go, that same tight smile returning to his face.

Orestes crossed to Sentos' side as the Ephors deliberated.

"You should sit down," he said. "That leg looks painful."

"I'll manage," Sentos replied, but even as he spoke, he could feel the pain in his leg growing worse. He was not sure how much longer he could actually remain standing, even if he really wanted to.

"Pride for the sake of pride is worthless," Orestes said, proffering his shoulder to the larger man. "Let me help you."

Sentos gave a small nod, and let Orestes lead him to the benches beside Leonidas' empty throne.

"An inspiring tale, and well told by the way," Orestes whispered to him. "In its telling though, you may have just doomed us all."

Sentos frowned in confusion as the younger man helped him down to a seat.

"What are you talking about?" he said.

"Just that you may have given Demosthenes exactly what he wants, and for some of us, that's the last thing we wanted him to have," Orestes said.

Sentos shook his head in frustration.

"I don't understand any of this," he said. "What's happening here? Why is King Demosthenes on trial?"

Orestes glanced at him sideways.

"You think that's what this is?" he said softly, then turned and stared out over the crowd warily, his eyes finally coming to rest on Demosthenes himself. The King was watching the Ephors intently and did not appear to notice Orestes' sudden scrutiny.

"I don't blame you I suppose," the younger Spartan muttered, flicking his head toward the Ephors. "That's what they believe it is as well, more fool them."

Before Sentos had the chance to ask what he meant, Nestus was turning away from his colleagues and standing once more, his voice raised to address the entire chamber, even as he stared at down at Demosthenes with a look of utter disdain.

"Demosthenes of the Line of Akellus!" he announced loudly. "You have been brought before us here to stand and await judgement for the crimes of murder and defiance of the laws of Sparta. What do you have to say in your defence?"

"I reject your accusations!" Demosthenes shouted back and turned once more to appeal to the crowd around him. "These  men –  if they can even be called such – claim I have broken the laws of Sparta! I have done no such thing! Indeed, I am the only man in this room to have upheld our most basic of tenets! Those who I ordered killed were traitors to us! To our city, and to our most sacred of beliefs! They defied a direct order, given to them by their rightful King, and in doing so, have cost that same King his life!"

A murmur of agreement went up in the stands, and slowly he began to build in volume as Demosthenes continued to speak.

"And yet there treachery was as nothing when compared to these men!" he sneered, whirling to point an accusing finger at the assembled Ephors. "These so called rulers, who, at every turn, have shown themselves to be cowards, unfit to hold their most honoured of titles!"

"You accuse us of treachery!?" Nestus replied, his voice filled with outright astonishment. The red cloaked soldiers at his back stiffened at that, their grips on their spears tightening, and Sentos instinctively reached for the hilt of his own sword. The atmosphere of the room was quickly descending toward violence.

"I do!" Demosthenes snapped back forcefully. He turned back to the crowd again, his tone now one of reasoned appeal. "If I have committed any crime, it is to have lain indolent for far too long!  That  I will admit to being guilty of."

A chorus of denial echoed out of the crowd, but Demosthenes raised his hands in a calming gesture.

"It is true my friends... my Brothers, if I may call you that..."

Sentos felt the hairs on the back of his neck raise at that. He heard that term somewhere before, and again he thought of Leonidas, lying before the campfire, his life slowly ebbing away. He had told Sentos a strange tale that night; some crazy story of gods, monsters and the people who followed them. The captain had not believed it at the time, nor did he now. None of it could really be true... could it? His hand tightened around his sword hilt as the creeping feeling of wrongness he had had ever since he arrived outside finally began to overwhelm him. He could not tear his eyes away from Demosthenes though, so enraptured was he by the King's words.

"I sat idly by..." Demosthenes was continuing, "...as our law were subverted, our traditions defiled, as these men gave away all that it was to be Spartan on a silver platter! And all the while, better men than they or I, gave their very lives to defend it!"

The crowd of blue cloaked Spartans continued to roar in denial of his words, assuring him that he was being too harsh upon himself, that he had in fact done everything in his power to stop what had happened. Demosthenes accepted their words graciously, using them as fuel to carry him up to an almost fever pitch as he barrelled heedlessly onward.

"I watched as they allowed those Persian dogs to take liberties with our hospitality!" he cried. "I watched as they allowed them to accuse us of conspiracy and murder, and I did nothing! I watched as they surrendered us to those very same Persians, without consultation or question or even negotiation, and still I did nothing! I watched as brave, dead, King Leonidas marched to war on our behalf with only three hundred men to support him, and I continued to do nothing! But when it came to the Helots... when that final injustice was laid before me, and I watched these men, these oh so 'wise' leaders of ours, surrender not only our freedom to our enemies, but our very dignity to our slaves... I could stand it no more! All I did then was what any free thinking Spartan would have done in my place! I took it upon myself to defend us from the chaos that was and still is consuming the world around us!"

He took a deep breath, suddenly reining in his pitch, and when he spoke again, his voice was calmer, more earnest, almost appealing.

"I ask you now... no I beg of you now... to all do the same. The Persians will return, and when they do, they will sweep aside all armies that stand against them! We cannot afford to stand divided and now is not the time for half measures! Not just Sparta, but all of Greece will fall and fall soon if we do not act! Perhaps not to the Persians, but if not to them then doubtless to some other foreign power! We cannot count on others to save us! That was brave Leonidas' mistake. He trusted in outside influences, allegiances with other cities, wandering warlords and all to his ultimate ruin! We are not politicians! Ours is not the Athenian way of endless talk! We are soldiers, born and bred for one purpose; to fight! If others will not save us, we must take it upon ourselves to save them! Together as Spartans one and all, we can forge a new Greece! A stronger Greece! A Greece that will stand proud and mighty, not divided and fractious. I implore you all to heed me! Don't let the sacrifice of brave Leonidas be in vain! He has taught us that if we do not stand as one, we will fall as many! Let our legacy be the former, and not the latter!"

Finally, his speech drew to a close and he hung his head, no longer the proud defiant individual of minutes before, but instead a humble man awaiting his fate.

Sentos could not quite believe what he had just heard. What Demosthenes was proposing was insanity, and to invoke Leonidas' name in its defence made the hairs on the back of his neck bristle with anger. Was Demosthenes truly being serious? Did he really expect Sparta to launch a war of conquest against the other Greek city states so soon after the loss of three hundred men at Thermopylae? Did he honestly believe that such a strategy would unite Greece against the Persians? It was nothing short of madness!

"Pretty words," Nestus said, regarding the Spartan King steadily as he did so. "But in the end, they cannot excuse your abominable crimes. This council's judgement remains unswayed. You are guilty of the crimes you have been accused of, without a shadow of a doubt, and your punishment is as it always was..."

He nodded to the two guards in red cloaks flanking him, and the men descended the steps to the council floor, crossing to Demosthenes and seizing him roughly by the arms. Demosthenes did not resist, but the crowd began to stir restlessly.

"Take him away," the old Ephor ordered. "To the mustering fields where so many of his victims still lie, then execute him and leave his corpse among the Helots he so brutally massacred. Let them judge him on the banks of the Styx, as is only fitting."

The two men nodded tightly and turned with Demosthenes, beginning to frog march him out of the room as the crowd started to jeer down at them.

Suddenly, the line of blue cloaked soldiers led by Captain Gracus – the men Sentos had thought were set to guard Demosthenes – closed ranks and lifted their shields, their spears dropping into a striking position. They barred the red cloaked soldiers' path like a field of hardened wood and steel. The two soldiers escorting Demosthenes froze in their tracks, seemingly uncertain as to what they should do next.

"Stand aside Captain Gracus!" Nestus called to them angrily. "That is an order."

"You cannot command me," Gracus replied, then nodded toward Demosthenes. "Only my King can do that."

A rumble of approval went up from the audience, and Sentos began to straighten from his seat, only to feel Orestes' hand grip tightly to his arm and pull him back down into his seat. The younger man shook his head at Sentos.

"Don't," he hissed. "You cannot stop what's about to happen."

"The Honoured Ephor ordered you to stand aside!" One of the red cloaked guard snapped, stepping forward toward Gracus. He did not manage more than a single pace when Gracus' spear lashed out, splitting the other man's leather breastplate and taking him hard in the gut. The guard gave a pained gasp of surprise and stumbled back a couple of feet before collapsing to the ground with blood seeping between his fingers.

For a moment all fell silent, and then suddenly, in a single bloody clash of sword and spear, Demosthenes' men felled the second guard too. Before anything could be done to stop them, they swept past their King to surround the low platform on which the Ephors were now seated.

The few of Leonidas' guards remaining at the Ephors' sides charged forward to meet them, but the element of surprise and sheer force of numbers on the side of Demosthenes' men were against them. Sentos tried again to stand, to run and help his comrades in their defence of the Ephors but Orestes continued to cling grimly to his arm.

"You can't save them," he hissed. "Better to live for the future, than to die needlessly in the here and now."

Sentos had never felt more worthless in his entire life. First Leonidas and now this. He did not understand what was happening anymore! Despite his confusion though, he knew Orestes was right. Even if he were to go to their aid, his leg and the number of Demosthenes' men would only result in a quick death, and in the end what would that achieve?

The coup itself lasted less than a minute. Soon, all of the red cloaked guards were dead or dying on the council chamber floor, and the Ephors had been made to kneel on the cold stone tiles of the platform, a ring of sharpened spear blades surrounding them. In the stands, the majority of the crowd were looking on in eager anticipation of what was to come next. Sentos could spy a few here and there who looked as disgusted by this turn of events as he felt, but also like him, they were powerless to intervene, their numbers simply being too few or too scattered to mount any kind of resistance.

"It would appear you made an error in judgement,  Honoured  Ephors," Demosthenes said, stepping up onto the platform with them and all but spitting the word 'honoured'.

"And what error would that be?" Nestus sneered back. "Not ordering your death sooner?"

A spear haft from one of the surrounding guards caught the hold man hard across the shoulders, driving him to all fours with a shout of pain as he went.

"Your error was in assuming that this was my trial," Demosthenes said smoothly, moving to squat in front of Nestus. "It was, in point of fact, yours."

Nestus tilted his head back to glare at Demosthenes, his eyes blazing fiery hatred from beneath his thick bushy eyebrows.

"You do not frighten me, Demosthenes" he growled defiantly. "You are nothing more than a petty tyrant with delusions of grandeur, the same as Xerxes, whom you fear so much!"

He turned his head to regard the room angrily.

"To be a Spartan is to be a warrior who does not court war!" he shouted. "A person of pride and strength, who remains humble and does not flaunt his power. Here now at this moment, you are making a choice to abandon that! If you follow this madman, if you let him sway you with a few well-chosen words that turn your own fears to suit his needs, then you are destroying Sparta as surely as Xerxes will! Should that be the choice you make, then may Ares curse you all to burn in Tartarus for an eternity!"

"Ares!?" Demosthenes snapped, then straightened suddenly, his arms spreading wide as he gestured to the chamber all around them.

"Ares!?" he said again, almost laughing this time. "Look around you old man? Don't you feel it? The world has changed! Ares has not been watching over us since Marathon! We are dead to him, and so I say, that he too is dead to us! Do you not agree my Brothers?"

A resounding shout of agreement went up from the crowd, and Demosthenes turned back to face Nestus once more.

"Enough words," he said. "You are, all of you, guilty of betraying Sparta to its enemies, and surrendering the very rights and traditions that make us who we are. Now it is time for your final sentencing. I believe you already know the punishment for such a betrayal."

Nestus straightened his back, and stared at Demosthenes with eyes like ice.

"I believe I have seen you administer it enough," he said.

"Then you should know that I take no pleasure in this," Demosthenes replied his voice suddenly soft and regretful. "You were all of you true Spartans once. Maybe in the afterlife, you can be so again."

He glanced up at Captain Gracus and nodded curtly.

"Do it," he said.

Gracus returned his nod, and gestured to the rest of Demosthenes' soldiers surrounding the Ephors. The men stepped forward, three to each Ephor. Two of the three crossed the hafts of their spears behind each Ephor's neck, pushing their man forward so that he was kneeling with his head toward the floor. Then, the third soldier came stepping forward, each one drawing their sword and holding it above their own Ephor's neck, poised ready for a downward strike. Demosthenes himself stood above Nestus, the blade of his own sword shining wickedly in the light filtering in from outside.

"On my order..." Gracus barked loudly, and the soldiers fingers visibly tightened around their various weapons. "...execute!"

The silence was deafening as the swords fell, and five separate heads rolled sickeningly across the stone floor.

Demosthenes turned back to face the crowd, his sword, now stained with Nestus' blood, thrust high above his head.

"Justice is done!" he shouted. "Spartan law has been sated, and our pride restored! Now, there is much that must be done and little time to do it. So that we can save Greece from her enemies, first we must save her from herself! Are you with me my Brothers!"

A dull rumble of agreement went up through crowd, and a slow chant began to echo of the walls.

'Demosthenes!', 'Demosthenes!', 'Demosthenes!'

The last living Spartan King smiled, and thrust his bloodied sword even higher.

"ARE YOU WITH ME!" he bellowed.

The crowd went from low rumble to a full scale eruption, the chanting growing louder and louder with each passing moment until it boomed like thunder from wall to wall.

Sentos grimaced at the sight and sound of it all. He could feel his stomach lurching sickeningly as he eyed the heads of the Ephors littering the council room floor. Was this really what Leonidas had been fighting for? Was this really the Sparta they had been trying to save? Nestus' eyes seemed to stare back at him accusingly, and slowly he looked away, his gaze finally falling on Orestes next to him.

"A dark day," the blue cloaked Spartan said softly.

"I don't understand," Sentos muttered, his voice hoarse and miserable. "What has become of us? When did we become so hate filled? How this even happen!?"

Orestes looked at him, his expression one of complete and total despair.

"The same way these things always happen," he said. "Because we let them."

*****

A thin layer of drizzle hung in the air beyond the window. Athelis sighed as he watched Ithius and his wagon roll into the yard from out of the dull gray forest beyond, the wagon's wheels caked with mud from the dirt trail that led up to the small woodsman's cottage in which he now found himself.

Nearby, from out of the shelter of a rickety thatched lean-to, a short squat man with a barrel chest and thick arms crossed the rain slick cobbles of the yard and began to help a group of particularly weary and ragged looking individuals down from the wagon. Some of them were carrying bags, or sacks of clothes, food, or maybe even valuables salvaged form their former life. Others had little more than the clothes on their backs, but one and all, they each wore the same expression of loss and fear. Athelis knew how they were feeling. He had felt the same way when he had awoken after the battle at the tomb, only to find Callisto comatose, and his one hope for revenge seemingly dashed to pieces.

Now he was here, idling in the middle of a forest on the edge of Spartan territory while outside, Ithius had begun to run himself a little refugee camp for fleeing Helots. It was nonsense really, a complete disaster just waiting to happen. Take the squat man for instance. Athelis knew his name was Drogo and that he was, relatively speaking, something of a big wig in the Helot community, but beyond that he knew nothing about the man. Ithius seemed to trust him, but how far could that trust really stretch? Could any of them truly be trusted at all? With every fresh Helot brought here, the chances of their being discovered were heightened exponentially. All it would take was one – just one – agent of Pelion's cult or Demosthenes' Spartans to creep in here and they would suddenly have a whole world of trouble bearing down upon them.

Sitting here playing humanitarian games was not the way forward. They should be out there making plans, fighting back, and yet none of them were.

And nor was he.

He slapped his hand hard against the window frame and let out a frustrated grunt. Why was he so afraid? What was it that was suddenly holding him back? He had never felt so uncertain before. He had always known exactly what it was he wanted, what it would take to make it so that he did not see Corrina's face every time he fell asleep at night. Now though, the answers were not so clear, and that frustrated him no end.

A low, pained moan sounded behind him, and he turned to the narrow, uncomfortable looking bed on which Callisto lay. Her condition had not changed since they had dragged her, limp and unconscious, from the tomb of Lycurgus. If anything she looked even worse than back then. It had only been a few days, yet her eyes were sunken, and they darted back and forth beneath their lids in the same manner they had been doing ever since her swim in the Pneuma lake. Her skin was pallid and clammy, shining with a thin layer of sweat that soaked her hair too.

He crossed to her side and placed a hand tenderly across her brow. She did not so much as flinch, lost as she was in whatever nightmares were plaguing her.

"I..." he began, then paused, swallowing as he tried to think of the words. Every time he did this, he just could not seem to get them right.

"...I never got the chance to apologise before," he said. "I wanted to tell you that I might have misjudged you, but you didn't give me the chance, and then..."

Outside the room he heard the sound of the cottage's front door banging shut and heavy footsteps on the floorboards outside. He withdrew his hand quickly and crossed back to the window. At his back, the door to the room opened and Ithius walked in, his cloak still dripping rain water.

Athelis cast him a backward glance then went back to staring out of the window.

"Any sign?" he asked.

"None," Ithius said from behind him. "None of the refugees have seen anyone meeting Monocles' description on the road North."

There was a brief pause, and Athelis felt his heart sink a little. Monocles had been his paymaster, and a strange little man he had been too, but in the end Athelis had grown quite fond of him. He hated the idea that something bad might have happened to him.

"Maybe he already got clear," he suggested, but deep down he had a feeling that that was not the case.

"Maybe," he heard Ithius agree. He could already hear in the other man's tone that he suspected the same as Athelis. There was silence for a couple of minutes, then the floorboards creaked softly as Ithius crossed to Callisto's side.

"Any other news?" Athelis asked steadily, still not turning around.

"Nothing good," Ithius answered, his voice sounding tired and defeated at the same time. "The Ephors are dead, and Demosthenes is now the sole power in Sparta. Apparently Demosthenes is shouting to anyone who will listen that the only way to stand against the Persians is if they unite Greece under one banner. A Spartan baner."

Athelis snorted.

"Good luck getting Delphi to agree," he said. "They've never been warriors, and the Athenians would sooner cut off their own feet than march to war under a Spartan led coalition."

"They won't have to agree if Demosthenes conquers them," Ithius said tiredly. "There's talk of taking the army North, to wage war and make any who won't ally with Demosthenes do so by force if necessary. Because Demosthenes is playing off the invasion fears, it's getting a surprising amount of popular support from the nobility and such..."

"That's madness," Athelis said as he watched the rain outside begin to worsen. "A war now wouldn't strengthen anything. It would only make the whole of Greece weaker when the Persians do finally come for us again."

"It does make sense if your goal isn't to win a war, but to end Greek lives," Ithius said darkly.

"So you think that's what the Followers were after all along?" Athelis asked. "Play the political game and turn the situation to their advantage so they can start a civil war?"

"I do."

Athelis rolled his eyes.

"And you played right into their hands, what with your little populist revolt, didn't you?" He gave Ithius a round of mock applause. "Great going there chief."

Ithius fell silent for a moment, and he spoke again his voice was tighter.

"Rumour has it that the Followers are finding a surprising amount of converts from the temples of Artemis and Ares," he continued eventually. "People are scared and uncertain, grasping at anything that might give them some kind of hope..."

Athelis felt his stomach turn at that, but he managed to hold his tongue this time. The last thing he needed right now was to get into a fist fight with Ithius. The former Helot's voice trailed off, and Athelis could hear floorboards creaking again as he shifted his weight.

"Any change?" he asked. It did not take a genius to work out that he was talking about Callisto.

"None," Athelis replied.

"One of the men I just brought in is a healer. He's a little odd, not as frightened as the rest, but he seems to think he can help."

"Best send him in then," Athelis sneered back. "The sooner he fails the sooner we can try something else that doesn't work either."

"Do you have a problem with something?" he heard Ithius say sternly.

"Yeah," Athelis snapped, rounding on him sharply as he did so. "You!"

"Me?"

"You," Athelis nodded, then gestured out of the window at the yard beyond. "Demosthenes betrayed you, put your best friend on the path to self-destruction, murdered your people, and all to pave the way for this power play of his, and you're just sitting here letting him do it!"

"You think I should be fighting back?" Ithius said, his voice tight and controlled, but Athelis could sense the growing anger inside him. "Mounting some kind of a resistance effort so that more of us can be slaughtered like pigs before market day?"

"At least then you'd be doing something useful!" Athelis said

Ithius' jaw muscles stood out beneath his skin as he clenched his teeth together in an effort to hold his temper.

"My people aren't soldiers Athelis. They're not like you or me. They proved that at the mustering fields. Those of them that tried to fight lost their lives there. The ones that are left... they just want to run... to find somewhere safe..."

"Don't be naive Ithius," Athelis interrupted. "There's nowhere that's going to be safe for any of you now, and you know it too! Demosthenes isn't going to stop searching for you all. You have to fight back."

"With what!?" Ithius finally snapped, his voice rising angrily. "They aren't warriors! Not a one of them! They're bakers, farmers, servants, and tailors, and you're telling me I should send them out against battle trained Spartans? They wouldn't last two minutes!"

"Horse shit!" Athelis sneered. "It's not about how well people fight. You've been in enough battles to know that. It's about how well they are led! Your old friend Leonidas just proved that at Thermopylae."

"Maybe if I had some help," Ithius growled back, "from... oh I don't know... some experienced mercenary let's say... someone who's seen war from all sides, and knows how to fight it. Someone who could help plan and strategise; someone who didn't spend all their time just moping about in..."

"Don't start with me," Athelis cut him off flatly. "I didn't just play right into the Followers' hands. Your war with Demosthenes isn't mine, Ithius."

"I've been having trouble trying to work out exactly which war  is  yours," Ithius shot back. "Remind me again why you came to Sparta in the first place? It clearly wasn't for a love of history."

"I don't need to listen to this," Athelis said dismissively. "You aren't my commander. You can't tell me what to do. You have to pay me for that privilege. My average rate is twenty dinars a day, plus expenses."

Ithius fell silent for a moment, then nodded slowly to himself.

"You're right of course," he said softly. "You'll be gone by sunset then?"

"I..." Athelis paused as the words suddenly sank in. "What?"

Ithius folded his arms and regarded the Athelis sternly.

"You heard me," he said, louder this time. "You're of no use to me lurking in here like this, and I'm certainly not about to pay for the 'privilege' of your company. I don't have time for freeloaders taking up space and supplies. We're already having to ration what food we have, and I could support three children on the amount you pack away at every meal. I expect everyone here to earn their keep Athelis, you included. If you can't do that, or aren't even willing to try, then I want you gone."

The two of them stood, glaring at each other in silence for long moments, until Callisto let out another pained groan. Athelis flicked his head toward the unconscious woman.

"What about her?" he said. "You going to waste 'space and supplies' on her?"

"I owe her my help," Ithius replied. "I don't owe you anything. Besides, why do you even care? It's not like she was paying you."

Athelis wanted to lunge for the other man, to throttle him there and then. Instead he settled for an even glare.

"I don't care," he said. He was lying of course, but he was not entirely sure why.

Ithius cocked an eyebrow at him, clearly not believing him either.

"Gone by sunset remember," he said firmly, then turned and headed for the door. "I'll send in the healer," was the last thing he said before the door swung shut behind him.

Athelis stared at the door for a moment or two longer, his mind churning over what he had just said. Why did he even care what happened to Callisto? Practical reasons really. She had seemed to know a lot about the Followers, and had been actively trying to fight them. That had made them uneasy allies, and at her side, he had been able to do more damage to Pelion and his schemes in two days, than he had managed in the preceding three years. Necessity made for strange bedfellows on occasion, and there were none stranger than Callisto.

He crossed back to the bed and stared down at her, the reasoning bouncing around his head, but never really convincing him.

"I'm lying to myself, but then you knew that didn't you?" he said softly. "At first, I thought you were just like the man I've spent the last few years hating. You aren't though, are you? You're the only one who really understands I think; the only one who knows how much it hurts when the ones you love are taken from you."

"Not the only one, I can assure you," came a fresh voice. It was dry and cracked like withered parchment. Athelis looked up to see a travel worn figure standing in the doorway. His back was hunched and old gnarled hands clutched at a heavy looking walking staff. Athelis could not make out the man's face, hidden as it was beneath a ragged burlap hood, but something about that voice was achingly familiar

"You're the healer I take it?" he said.

"I have a little talent in that regard, yes," the man said, stepping more fully into the room, his walking staff clacking loudly off the floorboards as he made his way over to Callisto. With his back turned to Athelis He propped his staff against the bed, then gently, almost cautiously even, he reached out and lifted her wrist, placing two fingers across it and another two against his own neck beneath the hood.

"What are you doing?" Athelis asked, but the man did not answer. Instead, he stood still, his head cocked slightly to one side as if listening to some far away voice.

"Her pulse is shallow but steady," he said, sounding more familiar to Athelis with each passing moment. "She lives for now, but for how much longer..." he shrugged, "...that I cannot say."

He glanced briefly back over his shoulder toward Athelis, but kept his head lowered so that his face could not be seen.

"This is Pneuma poisoning isn't it?" he asked.

Athelis nodded then looked to Callisto.

"We've tried everything we can think of, but she won't wake up," he said, before shifting his gaze back to the old healer. "Do you know what it's doing to her?"

"All too well," he said. "You will not be able to wake her, because she is not really asleep. She is trapped within her own mind, inside a labyrinth built of her own fear, pain and hatred."

"Sounds lovely," Athelis said. "A veritable stroll in Elysium."

Callisto shifted slightly on the bed, her eyes fluttering briefly, and Athelis felt his heart leap into his throat. Was this it? Was she about to wake up? With a low moan, she settled again, her eyes returning to the same darting pattern as before. Athelis' spirit sank.

"Can you help her?" he said eventually, not taking his eyes off Callisto as he spoke.

"The Pneuma is a gift from the Olympians," the healer said. "It was sent down as a test. That is what this is; a test of will, of soul, strength and faith. No mortal hand can interfere or change it..."

As he spoke, the man's voice began to drift far away, as if his attention were beginning to wander.

"...but then that is the challenge is it not? To undo that which they have made, to defy that which they thought set in stone..."

Athelis' frowned again. The healer was talking to someone, that much was clear, but he was certainly not addressing Athelis. As he continued, he seemed to forget himself, his dry withered voice becoming deeper and clearer as if the cracked tones of earlier had been simple affectation. A slow, dawning realisation was beginning to creep at the back of Athelis' skull. This man was familiar, and it was a familiarity Athelis did not like.

"Hey," he said, taking a step forward as he tried to get the other man's attention. "Do I know you? I feel like I should."

The man began to chuckle, softly at first, but slowly it grew until it was a rich throaty laugh, far removed from the dry, hoarseness of before.

"Oh come now Athelis!" he said, his voice now sickeningly clear. Suddenly, it became as if a completely different man were standing before him. The hunched back disappeared in an instant, and where once he had stood wizened and malformed, now the old man was tall and proud. Slowly, he reached up to remove the hood that obscured his face. It was a dramatic gesture that was not really even necessary. Athelis already knew who he was facing. As the hood fell away, Pelion's smile broadened at the look of horror on his face.

"If am honest with you, I'm more than a little surprised," he said scornfully. "Surprised and also somewhat disappointed. I had thought you savvier than to be fooled by so simple a disguise."

He brushed at the sleeves of his ragged robes distastefully.

"I would have worn my ceremonial robes naturally, but they are rather conspicuous at the end of the day, and I thought it best that this little rendezvous be done in secret." He leaned forward, his voice now a smug conspiratorial whisper. "After all, one never knows who might be watching."

Athelis did not say a word. Instead he let out a guttural growl of fury and leaped at the other man, driving him hard against the wooden wall and pressing his forearm roughly across the old priest's throat.

"You!" he snarled darkly, already reaching for his dagger, only to realise he had left with his sword and the rest of his things in the room next door. With a frustrated grunt, he redoubled his efforts to choke the man to death. "All these years running and now you just waltz right in here, bold as brass!? I don't know what game it is you're playing this time, what angle it is that you're working, but I'll tell you now, I'm going to kill you before you ever get the chance to see it through!"

Pelion gagged and choked as Athelis' forearm ground harder and harder against his throat, cutting off the air millimeter by painful millimeter.

"...can't... breathe..." he managed to gasp.

"That's kind of the idea," Athelis said, a grim feeling of satisfaction beginning to settle over him as Pelion's eyes rolled desperately.

"Kill me..." the old priest hissed.

"Precisely what I'm doing," Athelis retorted.

"...kill me..." Pelion struggled to continue, "...and you lose... all of you..."

"What are you talking about?" Athelis snapped, but Pelion's eyes were already turning vacant, staring dully into the middle distance as unconsciousness began to set in.

"What do you mean we lose!?" Athelis demanded again. He leaned in close, his mouth no more than an inch or so from Pelion's. "ANSWER ME!"

Pelion's mouth moved slowly, but the only sound that emerged from it was a pained, wheezing rattle. With a final cry of pure hatred, Athelis stepped back, releasing Pelion and letting him fall to the floor, the old man's breaths coming in heaving gasps until he managed to cough loudly and his breathing began to return to normal.

"What did you mean when you said we lose?" Athelis said again, glaring down at him disdainfully.

"Exactly what I said," Pelion replied, his voice now sounding genuinely hoarse. "Kill me, and you ensure my Lord's freedom."

"Is that why you came here then?" Athelis said. "Guarantee Cronus' release from Tartarus by having me kill you?"

He cocked his head slightly in consideration of the other man.

"Funny," he continued. "I never really pegged you as the martyring type."

"Then you don't know me well enough," Pelion snapped back. "I would gladly die to see my Lord's will be done."

"But far easier to let other people do the dying for you?" Athelis sneered.

"And what would you know of pain?" Pelion snorted dismissively at him. "Of loss? Of sacrifice?"

"Corrina was my WIFE!" Athelis practically shouted, unable to keep his temper from flaring.

"And she was my daughter!" Pelion responded in kind. "I wasn't about to lose her the same way I did my wife. No one was going to take her from me! Not the Olympians, and certainly not you!"

"So you thought you'd just kill her instead!?" Athelis said incredulously.

"I sent her to my Lord's side," Pelion said, his voice ringing with righteousness and his eyes shining with the light of a man safe in his total conviction. "There she will be cared for and looked after in a way like no other. There she will be safe."

"Funny definition of safety you have," Athelis said darkly.

Pelion turned away with disgusted snort.

"You just cannot understand can you?" he said. "Hardly a surprise really I suppose. Such a faithless creature as you never could. Your only loyalty has ever been to yourself; to your own wants, your own desires and pathetic satisfactions. Is it any wonder I needed to protect Corrina from you? I could never have trusted someone so completely selfish with my daughter."

Athelis could not think of an answer. He had always thought there was some dark, unholy reason that Pelion had murdered his own daughter; that it had been some weird occult sacrifice. The truth, that it had in fact been done out of some insane level of fatherly protectiveness, was probably even worse, and made him feel sick to his stomach. Pelion had burned his daughter alive in a temple, not because he had loved his god too much, but because he had loved her even more.

"If you have so much faith in your Lord, why are you here now?" he asked eventually. "Aren't I supposed to be your enemy?"

Pelion gave a low, derisive chuckle.

"I hate to disappoint you Athelis, but in my Lord's grand design, you do not even warrant a footnote." He gestured toward Callisto's prone form on the bed. "She on the other hand... she has... well, let's just say that she has a role to play." He gave a philosophical shrug. "Whether for good or ill though,well, that has yet to be decided.""

Athelis' lip curled upward in a sneer of distaste.

"Then why did your friend Mortius decide to dunk her in the Pneuma?" he said. "Hard to for her to play that role if she's dead, or comatose for that matter.

Pelion gave a long suffering sigh.

"He is somewhat... overzealous would be the word I believe. There may have been a... a... misunderstanding." Suddenly, he cocked his head in the same manner her had earlier, as if he were listening again. "But there may still be some benefit to be gained from this," he muttered almost to himself, his gaze and voice far away again, his face slack with inattention. He continued to stand that way for close to a minute, then blinking sharply, his eyes refocused on Athelis and a dark smile lit his face.

"You want her back, don't you," he said. It was not a question.

"I want your head on the garden wall out there," Athelis said, motioning toward the window and the yard beyond. "You and your Followers, all in a neat little row. Cronus' too if I have my way about it."

"Aiming a little beyond your means, don't you think?" Pelion countered archly.

"That's why I need her!" Athelis shot back without missing a beat as he pointed toward Callisto. "She was going to help me put an end to you!"

"And once more, you reveal your true colours," Pelion said. "Everything has to be in service of you and petty needs. Even her. I do not think she would be pleased to hear that."

Athelis' fists clenched tightly and he felt his anger beginning to grow inside of him. Everything Pelion was saying was cutting deeper than he cared to admit. How could the old man no such much?

"I've been patient with you so far," he said, doing his best to hold his temper, "but if you want to make it out of here alive, I suggest you leave." He gestured to the door. "Right now."

Pelion held up a hand as if he were gesturing to a servant, and Athelis felt his stomach churn with rage. Still, he managed to cling to his temper though.

"Not just yet," the old priest said, and he held up a stalling hand as Athelis took a threatening step toward him. "Kill me, and lose your only chance to save her." he said quickly.

Athelis stopped and folded his arms firmly across his chest.

"Alright," he said. "I'm listening."

"I have something for you," Pelion said, reaching into his robes as he did so. "A peace offering if you like, something that may help you get what you want."

From his robes, he pulled an amulet, and not a particularly attractive one either. Though it appeared to be made of gold, it was mostly plain and unadorned, with a thick chain securing a large flat disc. The disc itself was without markings or ornamentation of any kind save one noticeable one. A large misshapen lump of what looked startlingly like obsidian had been set at the amulets centre.

Pelion handed it to him as if it were the most valuable thing in the world, and Athelis took it from him warily, lifting it to his eye line so that he might better inspect it.

"What is this?" he asked.

"The one thing that can cure her," Pelion said softly, his keen eyes focused intently on Athelis. "If you place it around her neck, it will draw her back to you."

"How..." Athelis began, then stopped short, staring at the amulet intently. Something about the obsidian gem set at its core drew his eye, and he felt a faint tugging sensation in the back of his mind, as if something were being stirred deep inside him. For a moment, the image of Corrina, cold, dead and burned flashed in his mind, and there was a lurching sensation in his stomach, as if he were suddenly falling.

With a great effort, he managed to wrench his eyes away from the amulet and back to Pelion.

"Why?" he asked, his breath catching in his chest. "Why give me this? Why help me save her if she's only going to try and stop you?"

"Did I not say her role is not yet fully decided?" Pelion said. "She may try to stop my Lord, this is true. She may also yet prove to be the key to his return."

"Then why shouldn't I just leave her as she is?" Athelis said, feeling frustration growing inside him.

Pelion's smile widened nastily.

"Because you want to see me dead, and my Lord stopped as much as she does," he said, then tapped thoughtfully at his staff.

"If memory serves, you and your soldier friends often used to gamble, am I right? Cards, cups, dice, games of chance and the like?"

Athelis nodded.

"I've played the odds before, yes."

"And that is all I am offering you," he said, nodding toward the amulet. "Just another game of chance. Another opportunity to play the odds. In the end, you may yet lose, but should you win, well..." he shrugged and headed toward the door, leaving Athelis to stare disbelievingly at the amulet once more. As he opened the door to leave, the old priest lifted his hood again, casting a final backward glance.

"... ask yourself this; is the gain not worth the risk?"

With that he was gone, the door swinging quietly shut behind him.

For long moments Athelis stood, the amulet hanging limply between his fingers as he gazed at it, being careful not to stare directly into the obsidian. He felt twisted and turned around inside. He did not trust Pelion, but at the same time, he could not ignore the logic of his words. Chance was not something to be sneered at. He had met Corrina by chance after all. The bigger question was, how much was Pelion stacking the odds against him?

Gingerly he held the amulet out at arm's length, dangling it mere inches above Callisto's face. She stirred fitfully and her top lip curled back to reveal clenched white teeth. The amulet was cool and the gold made it heavy between his fingers. It would be so easy to just place it around her neck right now, to have her back in an instant, ready to side with him and spit Pelion and the rest of cretinous Followers like the suckling pigs they were. So, so easy.

Too easy perhaps.

With a sigh, a drew it back away from her again. Could she really be trusted, or was Pelion right? Would she ultimately turn on them, on him? It would hardly be an unprecedented move if she did, but then what other options did he have? If there was one lesson the last few days had taught him, it was that Pelion and the Followers were far more than they had first appeared, and certainly more than he could handle alone. He needed allies, and more of them than just Callisto.

With a frustrated grunt, he shoved the amulet inside his leather jerkin and stalked out of the room into the hall outside. There was no sign of Pelion, the priest long having departed, and Athelis cursed softly. How could he have been so stupid!? He had had the chance to end Pelion! Right there and then, and he had allowed the old man to distract him with talk of Corrina, and Callisto.

From somewhere down the hall he could hear voices from another room. It was the small front room that overlooked the other side of the clearing where the cottage was situated.

Squaring his shoulders he began to stride purposefully toward it. He knew now what he had to do. The Helots had never really been a threat to the Followers. They had just been a means to an end for them, but now, just maybe...

He shoved the door to the room open roughly and walked inside. A small table had been set up by the window that overlooked the forest beyond, and Ithius and the man known as Drogo were seated at it. Drogo was nursing a mug of ale, while Ithius examined and old tattered map spread out in front of him.

"...could head North..." Drogo was saying, but Ithius was shaking his head.

"Demosthenes will be waiting for us to try that, and besides, we might be leaving people..." he stopped suddenly as Athelis slammed the door shut behind him.

"What do you want?" Ithius said.

Athelis said nothing. He merely crossed the room to stand beside them, the amulet weighing heavy inside his jerkin as he glared down at the map.

"You should be using the forests to move around," he said simply. "Stick to the back trails and woodsmans' paths. Spartans never march without enough men to form a Phalanx. That's too many men on such small roads. The old wagon trails are no good though. Demosthenes will be watching them for certain."

Ithius glanced at Drogo then cocked an eyebrow at Athelis.

"And what's the charge for this service?" he said.

"That one you get for free," Athelis said. "Along with anymore of my help you need, but on one condition."

Ithius eyed him thoughtfully.

"And what condition would that be?"

Athelis smiled grimly.

"When the time comes, I want your help nailing every last Follower to the nearest wall," he said.

*****

Pelion was not in the best of moods as he entered the main chamber of the tomb. The meeting with Athelis had gone as hoped, but he would never have had to resort to such desperate measures if not for Mortius' near killing of Callisto. Even now he was not entirely sure that the shadowy Soul might not have succeeded already. Pneuma was a potent thing, when all was said and done, and combined with Callisto's own powerful personal demons, it could easily prove lethal. Pelion still remembered what had happened to Soriacles. By all rights, Callisto should have been dead already, her mind little more than a scorched and blackened mess inside her skull. That that had not taken place stood as stark testimony to her resilience, and how the Olympians selection of her to be their champion had ultimately proven to be a more cunning move than even he had first thought.

He paused mid stride, studying the decapitated body of the Follower on the floor. Mortius' punishment for his failure had been swift and brutal, a true portrait of the shadowy figure's single minded ruthlessness. As he stared down at the head, a dull ache began to throb painfully between his temples, and he felt a gnawing presence beginning to eat away at the back of his mind.

" Calm yourself my Faith,"  came the familiar distant whisper of his Lord.  "There is no failure in the service you have given. My Soul is formidable. He could be no other way or else I would never have chosen him. However, he works to his own agenda. You though, you have done well in achieving mine. The Callisto woman will yet belong to me. You need only to hold to your trust in me, to stay the course, and to give it time."

Pelion began walking again, attempting to make it appear as if there nothing untoward were happening.

Time may have been something they had now, but it would not always be so. With each passing day their enemies would be marshalling their forces. There plan was sound no matter the preparations their opponents made, but the longer they were given to prepare a defence, the less effective his Lord's plan would be.

" You doubt me?"  His Lord rasped irritably, his voice like a swarm of hornets buzzing around Pelion's mind.  "That would be most unwise. You are my Faith! There is no room for doubt. Only utmost obedience, and then, when I am free, your faithful service will not be forgotten."

Pelion did his best to stifle his thoughts. His Lord was right. He could not afford to let any kind of doubt cloud his judgement. Athelis would not disappoint. Of that he was certain.

He mounted the steps that led up to Lycurgus' sarcophagus, and stood quietly, his eyes sliding over the Pneuma lake as he waited.

" He comes to you..."  His Lord hissed.  "I crawl at the edges of his mind..."

There was a barely audible rustle from somewhere nearby, and Pelion narrowed his eyes as he listened carefully. It was a dry scrabbling sound coming from somewhere back toward the tomb entrance. It continued for a moment or two then was followed by a low, grunted curse, and footsteps muffled only slightly by the darkness around the edges of the chamber.

He turned to regard the room, bringing his staff down with a loud bang against the slab beneath his feet. The crack of wood against stone rolled off the walls and between the pillars, causing the footsteps to falter for a moment.

"I know you are there," he called out loudly. "You Spartans may be renowned warriors, but stealth is clearly not your greatest strength."

"Nor was it ever my concern," came a strong voice, edged with an infuriating level of self possession that almost rivalled Pelion's own.

A number of men crossed out of the shadows around the edges of the chamber, and Pelion felt every muscle in his body tense in involuntary nervousness. They were all of them big, well muscled and clad in the usual dark leather armour of Spartan soldiers. Each of them wore a blue cape, fastened with a bronze clasp and a similarly fashioned helm with a low cut blue crest. At their head marched a figure as tall as any of the others. He did not wear his helm, carrying it in the crook of his arm as if it were some kind of royal scepter. Unlike the rest of the Spartans, he also did not carry a spear. Instead, a heavy looking sword hung in a plain scabbard at his side, and he wore it with the easy grace of a man born to it.

"King Demosthenes," Pelion said with a sweeping bow, equal parts respectful and at the same time full of mockery. "I had not expected to see you here..."

He straightened, a dark look suddenly creeping across his face.

"...at least not so soon..." He continued, then cast a meaningful glance toward the men at the King's back. "...or so well escorted. Your instructions were to come alone."

"Surely you did not expect me to travel the roads unattended in the current climate?" Demosthenes said as he reached the foot of the steps and began to ascend them. "There are a great many who would be delighted were they to get word that I was travelling abroad of the city, and without escort."

"But that 'great many' are not here," Pelion replied, "and you will remember your place. In Sparta you may be a King, but among us you are only a Brother, no greater or lesser than any other. I am the Faith of our Lord, a first among equals, as is Mortius his Soul, and neither of us will brook disrespect to ourselves or our positions. Is that perfectly clear for you?"

Demosthenes paused on the steps, eyeing the old priest warily, then turned and gestured to his men to leave. Most of them turned on their heels almost immediately, but one man, broad shouldered and with a thick neck, glared at Pelion steadily. Demosthenes fixed the man with a commanding stare.

"Gracus," he said, his voice lowered with a hint of warning to it. The other man's eyes flickered toward his King, and he gave a curt nod before turning to follow the rest of the soldiers back outside.

As they left, Demosthenes turned back to face Pelion. His eyes were blazing hotly, and his jaw was set in an almost petulant line. Pelion did not flinch or cower and instead stared back at him, his eyes hard and unblinking. He would see to it that this upstart learned his place. A Spartan King was nothing compared to the Faith of Cronus.

Finally Demosthenes bowed his head and dropped to one knee.

"My apologies, Brother Faith," he said, not sounding in the least bit humbled. "But I cannot appear weak in front of my men. I am sure you understand the need for them to respect my position, my authority..."

"All of which are meaningless to me," Pelion interrupted him. "Remember who it was who saved you from the hopelessness and despair that had so crippled you. Remember who it was who gave you back that dignity you had lost, and promised you the world you desperately desired, but could not achieve on your own."

"Great Lord Cronus," Demosthenes intoned, as if reciting scripture.

"Yes," Pelion said. "There was an oath sworn too if I recall, in which you surrendered unto him all your worldly concerns. Your position, your authority; they all belong to him now, to bestow or to take away as he sees fit. Never forget that."

"I will endeavour to do so, Brother Faith."

Pelion shook his head.

"Do not 'endeavour'," he said. "Achieve."

Demosthenes bristled at that, but before he could answer, a strange flickering among the nearby shadows caught both their eyes. Suddenly, as if by magic, Mortius was standing before them both, the shadows peeling back off the customary sickle bladed staff at his side, and clinging all about him like an extension of the robes he wore.

"I would say our Brother has already achieved much," he said in that same strong, but strangely flat tone he had. "More perhaps than some others I could name."

The swipe was not so much thinly veiled as it was scandalously clothed, and suddenly it was Pelion's turn to bristle with indignation.

"So we are all here then," he said, doing his best to ignore Mortius' remark. "Can we just get this over with and move on to what lies ahead now that Sparta is behind us. The next stage of our Lord's plan awaits us, and I for one, am eager to move on with it."

Mortius turned to regard him, the blackness beneath his hood as unnerving as ever.

"Impatience does not become you Pelion," he said. "Or do you disagree with my choice?"

The remark was bait of course, a not so subtle trap. If he argued the decision it would suggest that they were not united, undermining the whole philosophy of the Followers being equals beneath their Lord, and that their leading Triumvirate were the first among them. However, if he did not challenge it, it would be an almost tacit admission that he did not hold the same sway as Mortius, which would in turn only serve to cement the other's already intimidating reputation within the ranks of the Followers.

"We speak as one voice," he said carefully. "We act as one will. His will. Demosthenes has been chosen..."

He paused and gritted his teeth.

"...by both of us," he finished tightly.

Inside his head, Pelion felt his Lord stir, causing the headache he was feeling to pulse harder and heavier.

" An uninspired choice by my Soul,"  he hissed,  "This one is filled with fear that he cannot stand, nor truly face. He is broken, when he should be whole. Weak when he should be strong. Unfortunately my Soul has maneuvered most well in this matter..."  he sounded almost proud  "...you have little choice but to play along my Faith. This King of Sparta will do..."

The voice was already beginning to fade, but it had not disappeared entirely from Pelion's mind before one final remark was uttered.

" ...for now."

Mortius was already turning to face Demosthenes.

"...have given more to our cause than any other Brother or Sister..." he was saying. "...and as such you have reached a level of esteem in the eyes of our Lord beyond that of any save ourselves," Pelion nearly laughed out loud.

Esteem indeed!

Mortius gestured toward him smoothly.

""In ages past, when our Lord still walked in the world of the living, the Followers held a triumvirate of power as foremost amongst them," the dark figure began to intone, his words a pitch perfect repetition of those he had spoken to Pelion in this very tomb only a week or so before. "Each point of this triumvirate, the Soul, the Strength and the Faith, stood as a cornerstone of our Lord's being. In the past we spoke in his place. We were voices for each distinct face of his multifaceted brilliance. I, as the Soul, am the apex of the triumvirate, and Pelion, as his Faith, guides the Brothers and Sisters of our fellowship in the Following of his will. One more position remains however, and it is time it was filled."

"I am adequate to the task!" Demosthenes announced proudly from where he knelt, and Pelion had to fight hard to repress a derisive snort. He could have thought of no better word than 'adequate' to describe Demosthenes if he had tried.

"I will not be a disappointment..." Demosthenes was continuing. "...I will lead the Spartan army forth, and we will carve our Lord's name into the very bedrock of Greece herself! The barrier will crumble, Great Cronus will be freed, and Olympus and Ares will fall. This I promise to you!"

"A heady promise indeed," Pelion sneered. "Be sure that you can fulfill it. Our Lord does not look kindly upon failure."

Mortius did not look at Pelion, but the old priest could tell he had scored a point against the Soul, as the shadows at dark figure's feet twisted and seethed in obvious irritation.

"But a promise that shows your dedication, your commitment, and your drive," Mortius pressed on in spite of Pelion. He stepped forward, reaching out a pale hand toward the kneeling Demosthenes.

"Now come," he said, his voice taking on that same flat tone of recital as it had before. "stand beside me strong Demosthenes, be my Brother in a way no other among the Followers is."

The Spartan King accepted his outstretched hand gratefully, and Mortius pulled him to his feet, as Pelion looked on grimly. This was not right and his Lord was correct. Demosthenes was the wrong choice. He knew that deep down in the pit of his stomach. The Strength should be strong, and Demosthenes was not. There was too much fear in him, and too much pride. He would lead them to disaster, of that Pelion was almost certain. It should be Callisto here in front of them! No, it  would  be Callisto.

He would make sure of that himself.

"Now we are as one," Mortius announced with great finality, "Together we are our Lord's Soul, his Strength and his Faith, our fates entwined under his watchful eye."

Neither Demosthenes nor Mortius noticed as Pelion muttered their Lord's final words under his breath one more time.

"...for now," he whispered.

Epilogue: Down Here With Me

The laughter seemed to be everywhere, all surrounding and encompassing. It mocked and jeered at her, its dry, cackling pitch cutting straight to her heart as she tumbled down, down, down, into bottomless darkness. She could not remember how long she had been falling, or how she had even begun to fall, but she did know, with a great sense of trepidation and dread, what would be waiting for her at the end. The laughter intensified and she felt a scream building inside her; one born of frustration and impotence in the face of her torment.

"STOP IT!" she shouted furiously into the darkness. "STOP LAUGHING! LEAVE ME ALONE! LEAVE ME IN PEACE!"

But the laughter did not stop, no, would not stop. It continued on and on, cruel, harsh and biting as it cut to the very core of her. With a terrible, wrenching scream, she clasped her hands to her head, pressing her palms to her ears in a vain attempt to shut out the never ending cacophony. It did no good though, and the laughter now echoed inside her head as loudly as it had in the empty darkness from before.

Suddenly, as if by magic, it stopped. It did not fade away or dissipate. One moment it was there, the next it was gone, leaving her a moment of pure, blissful silence. Then she heard the sound of wind roaring in her ears and she knew that the end was near. She closed her eyes, and hoped for a quick ending as whatever it was she was falling toward rushed up to meet her...

*****

Callisto jolted awake as if she had been having a nightmare, but she could remember nothing of it. If she tried hard, she had some vague recollection of blackness, and a sensation of being in free fall akin to the time... the time...

She could not remember. When she tried, all that came back to her was haze, like when she tried to recall a dream. She frowned to herself. Something about that struck her as backwards. After all, this was the dream... wasn't it?

Slowly she glanced about herself, her eyes widening as she took in her surroundings. The soft warmth of sunlight filtered through tree branches overhead, casting dappled shadows across her face, and she had to blink against the bright flares of light that occasionally managed to pierce the canopy of leaves above her. Her back was pressed against rough tree bark, and one leg was dangling loosely in the open air, while the other was tucked up to her chest, her arms wrapped tightly around it at the knee.

She was sitting in the low hanging branches of a large tree. The warmth of sunlight and the dew on the leaves suggested it was mid-morning, as did the sound of cheerful birdsong.

She already knew exactly where she was, though she was not entirely sure how she knew it. This was the big tree that had sat alone a hundred or so meters from her home in Cirra. She had used to come up here when she had wanted to escape and hide from her mother and her chores. She remembered how her mother had always been hard on her about keeping up with her house work, but she had never really taken to it. Sweeping the yard had been her least favorite and wherever possible she had bribed her sister to do it for her with the sweet cakes she had often pilfered from the village baker...

As the memories of her childhood came flooding back to her, she felt a dull ache form in the back of her throat. She had not thought about the tree, or the the sweetcakes, or even sweeping the yard for her mother in so long... but why? Because this place was impossible was why. Cirra was gone; her family with it, and with them, any semblance of the life she could have had. Once more though, she did not know how she knew that. Why was Cirra gone? What had taken her family from her?

Something flashed strong in her mind then; the image of a dark haired woman in leather, and of a terrible tide of flame sweeping down streets and across rooftops. She flinched at the pain it carried with it, closing her eyes tight and hoping that haunting images would go away. Slowly she cracked an eye open again. The flashes were gone and sunlit hillsides of the country side were all that stared back at her. The pain remained however.

A nagging sensation at the back of her mind told her she was forgetting something. She had been here before, and recently too, but like everything else, the details were fuzzy and unclear. For a moment she thought she could smell a strange sulfuric scent on the wind, and the image of a man, broad and with dark hair mocking her from a chair before a roaring hearth, flashed unbidden in the back of her mind. Then it was gone as quickly as it had come, and the only thing she could smell now was the sweet damp of the grass below her.

Something was not right with any of this. Why were her thoughts so thick and sluggish, like they were mired in tar? She could not seem to arrange her them correctly. Bits and pieces kept drifting to the surface; all half remembered feelings, sights, sounds and scents, but there was nothing she could sieze a hold of to center the rest around; nothing solid or firm for her to cling to.

With a shake of her head, she did her best to dispel the haze that had settled over her and tried to organize her mind. It took more concentration than she would have liked.

Looking around the landscape again, her eyes narrowed. This was definitely her home, there was no doubt of that. Her house stood as it had always done, a hundred or so meters away at the bottom of the sloping hillside, the village beyond framing it perfectly. Even though the surroundings precisely matched her recollection, there was still that same feeling of wrongness creeping in the back of her skull. She could not be here, but nevertheless, somehow she was. How had she come to be here then and if it could not truly be Cirra, then the question remained of where exactly here was. Perhaps this was Elysium.

Now why had that thought come to her?

Another memory floated to the surface, this time of two men...

She shook her head again.

...No, not men; gods! Zeus and Hades. There had been a deal. That she could remember now. Some kind of arrangement had been made, but what it had been was still elusive. Even as she tried to hold onto them, her thoughts began to drift again, and she turned to gaze down at the house that was supposed to be hers. Smoke was pouring from the farmhouse chimney, always a sure sign that her mother was cooking something on the kitchen hearth. Maybe she should go and speak with her mother. She would almost certainly have the answers Callisto was looking for.

She frowned again suddenly, as the strangeness of that thought dawned on her. Why did it seem wrong to assume her family were here? Again, the images of the dark haired woman and a roaring maelstrom of flame filled her mind. She knew what the fire was now; how it had scoured her house and her family from the face of the world, the same way it had the rest of the village.

A great sadness settled over her as she thought of it, and hot on its heels came the familiar biting pain and hate that she now remembered all too well. They were the most familiar things here, more so even than her childhood home, and she slipped into them as easily as a man slipping into his working clothes. Her family had been taken from her, and she had to see to it that the one who had done it was punished in kind.

Suddenly a single word floated in the corner of her mind.

Xena.

That was it! That was the missing piece that she so desperately needed to cling to. The dark haired woman! She hated Xena! Hated her with every fiber of her being, and every breath she took. She ached to see her broken and in pain!

Yes! She hated Xena more than anything else in the world...

...Did she not?

Again, the fog was returning to cloud her mind, and the image of Xena was becoming harder and harder to hold onto. The hatred still burned in her gut though, hot, scorching and fierce.

Without really thinking, Callisto twisted from her seat in the tree in a perfect backward tumble that carried her down to the thick grass below.

As she touched down, she flexed her toes instinctively in her boots. It was an old habit; one that dated back to when she had used to do this barefoot, and for a brief moment she felt the urge to kick off her boots and do the same now.

Gritting her teeth, she ignored it, instead setting off toward the house with its chimney now all but billowing great clouds of smoke into the pristine morning sky. The answers she was after would be in that house. She was certain of it. Now, if only she could remember the questions.

As she walked, the sky began to darken visibly. She glanced up and was surprised to see the sun not dropping toward the horizon as she had expected, but instead simply fading from view, as if it had never truly even been there. Even stranger though, was that the stars did not come out as the sky darkened, and the more she paid attention to it, the more she realised that it was not just the sky blackening, but the surrounding hills too. Slowly but surely the world around her was disappearing until only the tree, the house and the land in between remained.

She looked back toward the house again, and felt her stomach lurch sickeningly. Smoke was now pouring not just from the chimney, but from around the edges of the thatched roof too, and beyond the windows, she could make out the dull, flickering light of a fire. It was happening all over again! Everything was about to be taken from her. Well, she would not let it happen again... not this time... not if she could prevent it.

With a desperate cry of fury, she hurled herself forward at a dead run, her long legs eating up the final fifty meters or so to the house in a matter of moments. As she drew close to what she remembered as the kitchen door on the side of the house, she lowered her shoulder and braced hard, slamming into it with such force that the latch splintered and the door flew back on its inches to rebound off the stone wall with a loud crack.

Instinctively, Callisto reached up to catch the door as it ricocheted back toward and stared open mouthed at the kitchen before her.

There was no fire.

Not so much as a hint of flame, nor a trace of heat greeted her. The whole kitchen instead stood empty and quiet save for a single cup of fresh tea sitting on the table at its center. Again, that creeping sensation of wrongness was back, the odd sulfuric smell suddenly thick on the air all about her.

Without really knowing why, Callisto pressed on inside, running her long fingers over the stone kitchen counter and the various cups, pans and saucers that littered every surface until she was standing over the table. Warily, she reached down and snagged the cup of tea, lifting it and sniffing gently at the steam rising from the hot liquid inside. It was definitely tea. She lifted it gently to her lips and took a sip, wincing as she felt it burn her tongue. It tasted exactly how she remembered it should, strong but with a hint of lemon squeezed into it, just like her father had used to brew for her whenever she had taken ill with a chill.

Her hands tightened around the well worn mug, ignoring the heat of the tea inside even as it threatened to burn her, and then, with a furious scream of genuine despair, she turned and hurled it across the room so that it shattered against a nearby wall. Still screaming, she pivoted back toward the table, her leg coming high, then falling with the same force as an executioners axe, her heel catching the table dead center and splintering it in two with a loud crack. She reached down and grabbed one half of the shattered table firmly with both hands, ripping it from the floor and spinning it out away from her to launch it through the air at her mother's crockery cupboard. The cupboard tottered from the impact but did not break. Then, like a tree felled in the forest, it began to keel forward, smashing to the ground with a terrific bang.

Her anger still not satiated, she span and stalked toward the rows of cups and mugs arranged neatly on a nearby shelf, sweeping them from it with a single dismissive wave of her arm to accompanying crash of earthenware against stone. She snagged the final bowl from the shelf as it fell, spinning and whipping it toward the nearby kitchen window. The window exploded from the impact, scattering glass out into the yard beyond. She stood in silence for a moment, her chest heaving as she stared at the devastation she had wrought, and the with a final despairing cry, she collapsed back against the tea stained wall, sliding down it until she was sitting among the shattered cups and bowls, her knees drawn up to her chest and her head clutched tightly between in her hands, rocking herself back and forth as a strange combination of confusion and misery washed over her.

This was not real! Why was she here! Why could she never leave this place behind! Why did she have to carry it with her everywhere she went like some great lodestone around her neck?

Somewhere nearby, she heard someone laughing quietly.

She glanced up from her hands as a warm orange glow lit at the corner of her vision. Turning to face it, she could feel a thick sensation of dread beginning to take root in the pit of her stomach. It was the light of a fire again, only this time it was coming from beyond the stone arch and curtains that led to the living room and the house's front entrance.

She continued on toward it, each step harder to take than the last. She did not know what she would face beyond that archway, but some vague, hazy recollection told her that it would not be good. What would it be though? She wracked her brains trying to pierce the thick miasma that hung across her thoughts. This was her home, which meant that surely somewhere she would find...

"Mama?" she called "Mama, are you there? Papa? Please answer me if its you!"

All was silence as she drew up to the edge of her arch. The sense of dread in her stomach seemed to weigh a ton now.

"Mama?" she said again. "Papa?"

With a quavering hand, she reached out toward the archway.

It took more effort than anything she had ever done before to push that beaded curtain aside and pass beneath the stones into the living room beyond, but she still, she managed to do so anyway. Slowly the thick mists in her mind were beginning to peel back as she felt the answers she was seeking drawing nearer. She could not stop now, no matter what.

The living room beyond was not how she had remembered it from her childhood, but nevertheless it was familiar. It had been stripped of its usual furnishings and in their place, a thick red carpet had been laid out before a roaring stone fireplace. Two high backed chairs stood before the fire, each one casting long dancing shadows across the length of the room. One chair was turned to face the arch through which she had just entered, and now it was sitting unoccupied. The other was turned away from her and toward the fireplace. Someone was seated in it, but with the seat's high back, Callisto could not make out any of their features.

The sight of the chairs, combined with the sulfuric stink hanging heavy on the air triggered something inside her, and suddenly the fog obscuring her thoughts was blown away in an instant. Everything came rushing back in on her in a great wash of memories and she visibly staggered under the weight of it all.

She remembered everything now; Xena, the fire, her quest for revenge, and the dark downward spiral it had led her on. Then there came her many deaths, the deal with Zeus and Hades, Penthos, Sparta, Leonidas and all the rest. She remembered the temple of Artemis, defaced and filled with hate and suffering, and the tomb of Lycurgus with its long draped shadows and looming statues. She could remember the Followers, and Mortius, and how he had dropped her into that vast lake of stinking Pneuma. Lastly, and most of all though, she could remember that laughter, teasing and tormenting her, while Ares had stood beside her in the yard outside, a blazing inferno surrounding them on all sides.

Her eyes narrowed, sliding slowly from side to side. The God of War was here somewhere, watching and waiting. He had to be. There was no other answer she could think of.

"Ares..." she cooed softly. "Ares... Come out, come out, wherever you are."

Nothing stirred in the room, and the only sound was the dry crackle of flames in the fireplace.

Cautiously she began inching forward toward the chairs and their lone occupant.

"Ares," she said again, her annoyance beginning to grow. "I  really  don't have time for this, so why don't you just show yourself and snap your fingers again so that I can back to the world of the living and out of this fever dream nightmare. Then I can get back to saving Leonidas, stopping Cronus and saving all of your godly behinds."

Again there was no answer save the crackling from the fireplace.

"You know..." she continued as she drew nearer to the chair with its back turned to her, and to the figure sitting in it, "...what's the point of all this? Why keep showing me it? Are you trying to remind me how much I hate Xena? Is that what this is all about?"

She reached the seat and clasped her hands to the back of it, twisting it around to face her, the legs of the chair scraping loudly against the floor as she did so.

"I mean, it just seems like so much wasted effort," she continued, "I already know how much..." she did not manage to finish her sentence. The chair's occupant was not Ares as she had been expecting, nor were they anything like what she could have imagined.

Seated in the chair, reclining against the plush cushions, was a dry, desiccated corpse. The skin was wrinkled, yet pulled back tightly over the skull, the lips peeled back in a terrible rictus grin to reveal yellowed, rotting teeth. The raven hair that had once been so long and lustrous was now little more than tattered wisps, and the familiar leather bodice and skirt, with their curving gold worked breastplate, shoulder pads and wrist bracers, all hung limply from the shrunken body.

It was Xena.

Somewhere outside, she heard that same mocking laugh, but Calliso barely even registered it. Instead she reached out to touch the cold dead body in front of her in morbid fascination, her palm carressing the corpse's cheek almost tenderly. All this time, and all this hatred. She had imagined this moment time and again since Cirra had been destroyed, but now, just like when Hope had killed Solon, the peace she had expected to feel was elusive. Instead she just felt cold... empty...

"Ah! There you are my sweet!" came a delighted, mocking voice, and the sound of the front door slamming shut echoed ominously across the room. "I cannot tell you how much I've been waiting for this moment!"

Callisto ripped her hand back from the decomposing corpse in front of her and span to face the source of the voice. It's tone was one she recognised well, and she knew what she was going to see even before her horrified stare reached the new arrival. The fire of hatred in her gut began to flare hot and hard as her eyes met those of the newcomer, and the other's own eyes, large and brown, flashed with a keen and terrible madness in turn.

She had seen these features a hundred times in her dreams, and beyond that, every time she looked into a mirror or somehow saw her own reflection. It was her face that stared back at her, long and thin, with a sharp chin, high cheek bones, and a wild mass of long blonde hair framing it. That same thick hair was held back from her face now by two black leather braids, both the same colour as the leather battle dress that was fitted to her lean frame.

"You!" Callisto snarled.

The other her stepped deeper into the room, smiling cruelly back at Callisto, small, perfectly spaced white teeth shining sharp and shark like in the dim firelight.

"You indeed," her mirror image said.

THE END

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