Chapter 0.9 [The Rites Pt.1]

Chapter 0.9 [The Rites Pt.1]

The mysteries. Greater or lesser, they were the foundation of enlightened society as the Mediterranean knew it. The phenomena that eluded all explanation and drove men to maddening heights of cultivation in pursuit of an explanation. No man, no matter how sublime his cultivation, had ever found a satisfying answer to even the least of the divine mysteries. They were the questions that had plagued humanity for as long as there were written histories.

But we pursued them anyway. It was our hubris that drove us. Our fundamental audacity, that we could look upon the deepest complexities of creation and decide that they were within our understanding. To be incensed that there were things in this life that were not already known to our collective conscious.This chapter was first shared on the Ñøv€lß1n platform.

Cultivators were nothing more and nothing less than stargazers reaching desperately up to heaven, trying to catch divinity in our hands. It was the only way to part the cosmic veil. The only way to know.

What lay at the peak of Olympus Mons wasn’t something mortal eyes could see.

We stole the new initiates from their rooms as the moon fell out of the sky, covering their heads with leather sacks and coaxing them down the far side of the mountain range. More than a few panicked, stumbled, even tripped and fell. A senior mystiko was always close by to catch them, though they received an earful for the trouble.

It was a chaotic process, meant to disrupt and disorient the new blood. Several mystikos carried drums that they pounded as the new initiates staggered past, and a low chant was carried from the peak of the mountain all the way down to the harvesting fields. The chaos centered them. Forced them to focus on the rites, here and now, and not whatever delusions of renown they had been dreaming of after passing the qualification trials.

We walked them down the mountains and through the fields, until the smell of soil and livestock gave way to the salty tang of the Ionian Sea. A line of fire stood out on the beach, senior initiates patiently waiting with torches in hand and clay jugs filled to the brim with seawater. Their eyes were bright, underscored with scarlet paint.

I dumped Sol into the sand, rolling my shoulder while he cursed. One of the senior initiates approached us, walking out of the ocean shallows and offering me their torch. I accepted it, kicking the back of Sol’s knee when he tried to rise. He snarled another curse.

The senior mystiko, a man a few years older than me with scarlet-painted hair, hesitated. His eyes locked onto the manacles around Sol’s wrists, the severed halves of the chain that had connected them coiling in the sand. He looked askance at me.

“Why is the morning tide sacred?” I asked him. His expression firmed.

“Because it is the first to greet the dawn,” he said, and tore the leather sack off of Sol’s head.

The irritated Roman hardly had time to blink before the senior’s jug of salt water was upended over his head. He coughed and spat, shaking seawater from his eyes.

“Son of a-”

“Repeat after me-”

“- whore.”

“Repeat after me!” the senior initiate snapped. “I have fasted.” Sol glared at him.

“Say the words, slave,” I ordered him. “I didn’t carry you down that mountain for nothing.”

“I have fasted.”

“I have drunk the kykeon,” the senior initiate continued, procuring an animal skin from the folds of his ceremonial attire and holding it out. Sol considered it dubiously. I sighed, plucking it from the mystiko’s hand and taking a long pull from its contents. The spirit wine was sweet and potent, heavily spiced.

“This is mad,” Sol said, wide eyed.

“This is trial by spirit,” I corrected. “Every mystiko within the Civic Realm is welcome to take part and test themselves against another cultivator of civic rank. The elders are watching, obviously. Advancement to senior status is decided by martial prowess, strength of will, and stamina.”

Up on the pavilion, a flagging member of the pulling war’s western team shouted in furious determination. He threw his head back, mouth open wide, and his fellow mystikos were more than happy to oblige him with a deluge of spirit wine. He gulped down as much as he could and shook himself like a dog. Eyes blazing, muscles flexing. His efforts redoubled.

Off to our left, a junior mystiko came hurtling through the air, flailing wildly with a dagger in each hand. Sol moved, snatching him out of the air and slamming him down on the stone steps. The boy choked clutching his side in agony.

“That was hardly necessary.”

“He approached me,” Sol said, prodding the boy with a foot. The mystiko groaned and rolled pitifully away from it. I raised an eyebrow.

“He was thrown.”

“He approached me,” Sol repeated. He watched the other brand new initiates stream past, rushing after their senior chaperones in search of safety from the chaos. “What of the other two?”

“You!”

And so he was answered.

“Trial by hunger,” I supplied, amused, as Heron stormed through the press of combat to reach us. He was as of yet untouched, his ceremonial attire pristine. Though perhaps not for much longer. His pneuma rose precipitously as he laid eyes on Sol.

“Slaves are confined to quarters,” he snapped. “Arrogant wretch. I should lash the skin off your back.”

“That’s no way to speak to a new initiate, cousin,” I chided. Blue eyes widened in rage.

“You can’t possibly be serious. You would taint your father’s Rosy Dawn with this filth?” Heron jabbed a finger into Sol’s chest. The Roman didn’t move, and he had no ability to flex his pneuma, but the look in his dilated eyes made clear his intent. My dear cousin was tempting the Fates. “Are you out of your mind, Lio!?”

“I thought you’d be pleased,” I said mildly. “With this, you can say it was a future mystiko that savaged you in chains.”

At last, my cousin found his manly side. His face hardened. His hands burned brightly as he assumed a pankration stance, disdaining the slave entirely.

“There are certain privileges that a member of the Rosy Dawn is afforded as they gain renown,” I explained for Sol’s benefit, shrugging my shoulders out of my ceremonial robes. A belt of white cloth around my waist kept them from falling away completely. “Certain benefits. Certain affections.” Heron’s expression didn’t change, but his pneuma flared wrathfully.

“It’s a man’s nature to desire what he does not have. That is the trial by hunger. During the rites he can take it by force. If he’s able.” I grinned savagely, throwing my arms out wide for my cousin.

“You want this status? Come try and take it.”