Seeds (3 page)

     Esthanes' eyes glinted with undisguised joy. The smallest pleasures in life was occasion to rejoice in this harsh country. And with winter coming up, whatever little joy there were to be had usually became nothing more than memories. Finding a honeycomb was always reason to celebrate.

     Sometimes Iasion pondered the futility of life. It was toil for him and everyone he knew, day in and day out. And for what? Bare necessities. The few people who would not tolerate this kind of living simply gave up and let despair take their life, or left the area and never came back. It certainly wasn't a thought that was foreign to Iasion or any of his brothers. But what stopped them all was the fear of the unknown. What if they found no prospects out there? Surely if it was good, those who had left would come back and tell about the wonderful things out there.

     Iasion could feel the buzz of the marketplace before he saw the stalls and vendors. Something was different. He hadn't been expecting too many people today, since most would be at home, harvesting what remained in their fields and getting ready for the festival. If he hadn't been able to get a satisfactory deal for the grain, he would have gone all the way back home with the load. Mother would scold, but it was just for the benefit of his siblings.

     He wondered what it was that was causing the small commotion. It couldn't be a wedding, and the atmosphere wasn't somber enough for a funeral. Without a word, he went into the throng of people.

     The Harvest Festival was but three days away, and the small temple to Demeter was being cleaned and freshly decorated.

     Many families had small carvings or shrines to Demeter on their land. Out of all the gods, she was the one most fervently prayed to. Yet it seemed that with every passing year, the earth yielded less and less fruit. Animals – scarce and precious – were sacrificed, to no avail. Yet many were afraid that if they stopped, the earth would stop giving altogether. Appeals had been sent out to Rhea and Gaea as well. It was as if the gods themselves had forsaken this valley. Some even speculated that perhaps gods didn't even exist, though anyone who said such a thing was always quickly hushed.

     Iasion stared at the shrine that sat atop the hill in the opposite direction of the marketplace. When he was younger, he had prayed every year, every month, even every day. Demeter's name was invoked when he plowed the rocky earth, planted seeds, watered them, and walked among the fields every day to pull out weeds and pests. For the last couple of years, he had stopped trying. If anyone cared about them, he would have known it by now. What was the use of a goddess who let prayers go unanswered?

     The woman in the green chiton and cloak commanded the crowd's attention, and the shrine and his meandering thoughts were instantly banished as soon as he caught notice of her. Her clothing was of plain linen, but it was far better quality material than most if not all of the villagers had ever owned – or ever would. The dark verdant color was a muted yet rich color, reminiscent of ivy leaves. Her head was covered with the cloak, but his eyes met a pair of vibrant green-yellow ones. Her gaze was open and direct, her shoulders squared and her back straight.

     What really set her apart from the other women of the village was her healthy complexion. The curvier women that Iasion admired had lingering gauntness that hung around them like an aura. Even if their family's harvest was enough to feed every family member, the years of hard work and toil had an inevitable effect on everyone who lived here. Callused hands and sun-damaged skin was inescapable even for youths and maidens of twenty. His own mother was not yet fifty and she looked closer to seventy. Her crow's feet were deeply carved, and her hands almost resembled claws at times.

     But this woman had none of that. Her lightly-tanned skin was soft and smooth, and the hand resting on the outside of her thigh he saw was strong but not blistered or chapped at all. It was such an unexpected sight that the young man could not help but stare for several long moments.

     “Am I such an unusual sight here?” she asked. Iasion couldn't tell if she was being sarcastic or serious. Her tone was regal, and hard to analyze. Her accent was also different, and her voice sounded... what?
Lush
was the only word that seemed appropriate to Iasion. He flashed a surprised grin and unconsciously lifted one hand to run his fingers through his dark hair before it dropped back down to steady his load.

     “...Yes. No one has been through here for... well, I can't remember if anyone has visited here.” He was aware of several pairs of eyes watching him and this woman with open curiosity. But he found himself riveted to the spot by her calm stare. Again, he found himself thinking about how... healthy she looked. She wasn't what most would call pretty, but she had a straight nose and a strong but graceful jaw, with soft, full lips.
She's beautiful
, he mused. She was the kind of women he dreamed about.

     “Where did you come from?” He managed to break the stare and focused at a point around her left shoulder.

     “I walked here.” Such an answer would have seemed silly from anyone else, but from this woman, it seemed like something that no one could argue with. He had no idea what to say next. He wanted to ask why she had come here, and where exactly she had come from, but it somehow felt disrespectful to pry into her business.

     And what did he – or the village, for that matter – have to offer her? There was no inn here – a place without visitors hardly needed an inn – and the best place to stay was here in town at the house of Apis, one of the town elders. No one would argue that he was the wealthiest man in town, even though his two-story mud-and-brick house was not that much roomier or better than anyone else’s'. Food? Certainly the simple, rough fare of the villagers would not satisfy this woman who seemed to be from another world entirely.

     “Tell me, what is it like here? The land?” Her gaze rested on Iasion for a moment, but she moved her gaze towards the others who were watching her, inviting them to answer her.

     “We have never known prosperity. We are not even sure it exists,” Iasion interjected, thinking of the tales passed down of lands that exploded with bounty, where animals were plentiful and people could rest, rejoice, and be merry. Nobody here could remember such a time, or whether such a situation could ever exist.

     “Mistress.” An older man came forward, his skin leathery and what little hair he had left on his head and face white. His tunic was well-mended and gray from many stains and washings, and Iasion recognized him as Calipus, one of the oldest people in the village and a respected elder. “I have toiled the land my entire life. I apply everything I know about farming to the land, yet in my best years I barely grow enough to feed my family. The gods do not hear our prayers.” There was no need to say what happened in the worst years.

     “Why do you stay, then?” the woman asked. One would have expected her to ask this in a haughty or condescending tone, as many rich people would regard a person not as fortunate as themselves. But it was gentle and inquiring.

     “It is all I have known. And the few who leave never come back.” This came from Metadora, an older woman. The short, thin woman gazed up at the newcomer, looking even more drab and small in her coarse gray-brown chiton and cloak compared to this tall, powerful woman swathed in vibrant green.

     “What of the game?” she asked, again directing this at the people in her general vicinity.

     “If the land is bitter to us, it is even more so to the animals! We can at least farm and grow food. But the wild animals are left to fend for themselves. If anything, they work harder than we do! And when someone catches one, there's hardly enough to make stew!” There were several murmurs of assessment rippling through the small crowd. The regal woman nodded, as if she was deep in thought.

     Again, Iasion could not bring himself to ask why or where she had come from. And apparently, no one else could bring themselves to, either. This woman was like nothing that anyone here had ever seen.

     “This land is cursed,” she murmured, her voice soft but it was clear to even those in the farthest back of the crowd. One had only but to look at Enna and its people for that statement to be hastily agreed with. She turned her back and took a step. The people in her general direction parted for her, leaving the way to the dirt road clear.

     Iasion felt a sudden wrenching of his heart at the thought of never seeing this woman again.

     “Wait! What is your name, honored lady? Can I be of any assistance or hospitality?” Iasion called out, taking a step after her.

     “You may call me Thermasia.”

     Without a word, she was gone. No one saw her walk down the road, or disappear into the crowd. She was simply there one moment, and gone the other, as if she had never been there. Iasion wondered of Thermasia was merely a mirage born out of his hunger and desire, his dreams of plenty, of lush and vibrant fields and women.

o0o

     Iasion and his brother went home with their grain. He couldn't barter it all for a satisfactory price, but he did manage to trade some of it for a few things needed around the home. Mother scolded him because his brother and sister-in-law were in the house as well, but when her back turned to them, her expression was soft as she took what was left of the grain to store it away.

     It was Esthanes who told Mother about Thermasia. When he did, Iasion was relieved. He hadn't imagined that woman! Eurycleia paused as she was choosing ingredients for supper and turned to stare at her younger son.

     “Describe her.” This was aimed at both brothers.

     “She was....” Esthanes paused, chewing his lip for a moment.

     “She looked as if she had never been hungry, Mother. Her face was smooth, and her clothes were finer than anything I have ever seen, and a dark green color too,” Iasion stepped in. Dyes were almost unheard of, and the few that were actually made were never rich or vibrant. The dull muted colors as well as the natural grays of oft-washed clothing matched the demeanor of many who lived in this valley.

     “Yeah! And her hands were smooth too. Not like any of ours,” Esthanes added. At his young age, his hands already showed the rigors of hard work. Eurycleia's hands had been blistered and battered so many times that they no longer looked feminine.

     “Perhaps a goddess has heard our pleas. Finally.”

     “Mother?” Iasion asked. But even now, that thought was stirring in his head. Thermasia had suddenly disappeared, and she had been like no woman he had ever seen. She was majestic.

     “You were respectful to her, were you not?” Eurycleia asked, narrowing her eyes slightly.

     “Of course. I bowed my head. And I answered her questions. No one could not respect her, Mother. Her presence... it commands your attention.”

     “She was marvelous,” his brother added. Iasion smiled just a bit.

     “Remember the tale of Baucis and Philemon. They were repaid for their kindness by Zeus himself, for they welcomed him into their home and offered him the best of what little they had, even though they didn't know he was a god! The gods reward the obedient and the faithful. The harvest festival is upon us.” Her eyes were calculating as she looked around the hut, at their few and well-worn possessions, before she looked down at her hands. Ever since she could remember, she had prayed along with all the others and participated in the festivals every year.

     “Goddess, if you are still here, please hear my plea. My family and I have been working for so long, and the land is bitter. Grant unto us a bounty.” Her voice was strong despite her tired body, and the rest of the family observed the moment in silence.

     A goddess! Iasion was giddy with the possibility. He had never seen anyone so marvelous, and knew that he would never forget the sight of her. Still, he hoped he would see her again. Perhaps their prayers were indeed answered. After all, why would that woman ask about how they lived? It wasn't something you asked a stranger. But if she was a goddess, then surely she would know what was wrong with the area. She would have heard their prayers, wouldn't she? Why hadn't she come earlier?

o0o

     The entire valley and the surrounding area were full of living things that were barely
living
. Demeter had never seen mortals look so...
drained
before. The land did not feel vibrant to her. If anything, it felt as if there was something trying to feed off her. It was a strange and unpleasant sensation, a nagging feeling that only grew worse as she meandered the hills that overlooked the village. There were several corpses here and there where the energy felt the strongest, like a roadblock to anyone who desired to leave the area. She was able to repel whatever it was – a malignant spirit, perhaps – but still its efforts hounded her. The back of her neck was constantly prickling.

     There was a certain deadness in the air – a kind of static that seemed like an invisible barrier around the entire valley, even extending several miles beyond all around. The odd thing was, she had passed near this valley a few centuries ago and hadn't felt that static.

     Either this was new, or the static had spread out of the valley. And the closer she came to these hills, the stronger that feeling was. What had before been an uncomfortable feeling was now downright painful, and when she felt the concentration of this malevolent energy spike, she stopped. Around here, the sparse grass became nonexistent, and the one tree that sat nearby was a twisted, stunted thing, long dead. Rocks jutted out of the ground almost like fangs, and she didn't sense one living being – not even an insect or worm.