Sunday 27 May 2012

Short Story Sunday: The Serpent's Curse

 Welcome back.  Today's installment is a mixture of psuedo-noire and greek storytelling.  It has come about from repeated listenings of Nick Cave's Murder Ballads CD.  Be aware, this story has gritty, serious violence.  This story is not for everyone.  It's also not an example of my best work, and to be honest I'm not really happy with it.  However, I can't keep everything back just because it's sub-par.  Maybe I'll revisit this idea in the future, try and pin it down.  We'll see.  With that in mind, I present...

The Serpent's Curse


My spear hit the ground with a clatter.  A ringing, hollow sound reverberating off of every flat surface. It was hammering the point home like our minds were Hephasteus' anvil.  I pried the helmet off my sweaty head, and let it too fall to my feet.

I regretted it instantly.  Everything that was hidden from me rushed in, a horde of angry dead wailing in my mind.  The corpses were everywhere.  The blood was everywhere.  The paint of our work evenly coating the road, making the path to home slippery at best.  The more I thought about it, the more I realised that this red road wouldn't take us home.  We could never go home.  We weren't those men anymore. Those men with homes and families had died two nights ago. I killed them.

I stared into the setting sun, hoping it would blind me forever.  Hoping it would sear the memories from me.  Praying it would incinerate me, and leave a better man to finish this life. My life. As I gazed into the blazing disc, the only thing I could see was the path that led me here.  The path, and every chance I had had to step off.

It started with a kiss. 

Suddenly the sun was gone, and I was looking at the world two days ago.  I remember the day was warm and inviting, the whole world ushering us home with joy that would soon turn to dust in our hands.

Our unit was returning from the front, the fighting done.  We had split from the bulk of the army, just a handful of us returning to our hometown.  Among us our commander Akakios, and his beautiful bride Berenike.  They walked beside me on the road and we shared our thoughts.  It was a calm I'll miss for the rest of my days.

"What will you do, lovers?  Surely the married life of two homestuck citizens will bore you to death." I joked. On the trail to the campaign, the two had spoken of nothing but the calm of their home, and the sweet wines they looked forward to sharing in peaceful contemplation for the rest of their days.

"Oh, indeed..." Berenike said jovially, rolling her eyes.  "We shall have to hire wild dogs simply to traipse through the house lest the dull day-to-day life claim us as victims."

"Yes." Was all Akakios said.  A spirit had been on him since the last battle, hanging over his words and actions like a fat black cloud.  To say the man was not himself was to understate severely.

Berenike halted us, and kissed her husband firmly.  He looked into her eyes, and whatever curse was upon him broke for a moment.  A smile settled on his face, and he spoke.

"No lifetime with you could ever bore, Berenike.  You grow joy in your footsteps."

I pretended to vomit, and we all broke down laughing.  Their display was stomach-turning, but it lifted a weight from my shoulders.  I knew that a Madness had wormed its way into my friend, but I hoped that Berenike would be able to keep it at bay.

When we reached the small village we had planned to spend our night at, the Madness had settled in Akakios' face once more.  To look in his eyes was to stare into a maelstrom trapped in a well.  You looked down, and down, and down, and nothing you saw was to your liking.

We tried joking, and singing, but nothing moved him anymore.  His mind was a labyrinth, and I can honestly say I never wanted to meet the monster that churned at its centre.

We three, and the five soldiers who were accompanying us home found lodging in the village.  A dinner was served, and we were treated with respect.  Conquering heroes.  True Sons of Greece.

The-Damned-In-Waiting.

Akakios was not his usual, loquacious self that night.  He barely spoke.  His mood did all his speaking for him.  It wasn't long before he retired for the night, leaving Berenike and I, and the soldiers, to enjoy the hospitality ourselves.

The wine was particularly delicious.  Red nectar, it wormed its way into my blood and into my brain, strangling my thought and loosening my limbs.  The delicious drink was as insidious as the shadow that had taken root in my friend.

"What is wrong with my husband." Berenike asked me bluntly, after too many glasses of wine.

"I... uh... I don't know what you mean." I lied, and reached for another glass.  As I looked around, I saw that the soldiers had all disappeared, leaving Berenike and I alone in the dining area.  How many of these had I had?

"You're right.  That's not the question I should be asking." Berenike's voice was a viper, coiling to strike.  I wanted to run, escape the answer she desired, but I couldn't.  The wine made me stay.  Or maybe I wanted the answer too. "Who is the man that came back from the war with us.  Who wears my husbands face and walks his steps. Who..."

"No!" I shouted, scrambling back.  This isn't right.  You can't say these things, these dark things that I've been thinking, the oily ideas that pooled in my mind like fetid water, corrupting me since our journey began.  I turned over, and started to crawl away, afraid of her speaking more of my thoughts. "no, nonono...""

"What do you know, soldier?" She commanded, rising gracefully, towering over my scrambling form like a monster, her eyes ablaze with righteous fire.  "What happened to my husband?" She demanded, her voice a choir of hungry souls.  I collapsed under the weight of her inquiry, and sobbed into the stone.  My eyes shut, trying to block out the sight of my friend transformed into this... demon of inquisition.  I felt her kneel beside me, and place a hand on my back like she was Berenike again.  Like she was human.  I opened my eyes and looked to her face.

"Who replaced my husband with that... thing?"

She was beautiful, a sight all Greece would fight for.  But I saw beyond that now.  I saw the ugly hidden behind her face.  I had hoped she would save Akakios, that her soul would be strong enough to fight the Madness that some sick god had placed on my friend but she wasn't.  She was a poison that would fester in his wounds and take my oldest friend from me even faster.  The wine had opened my eyes, and shown me truth.  "You... you were supposed to save him..." I whispered to her.  To make her lean close.

She cocked her head.  She hadn't heard my words, only that I spoke.  She brought her face to mine.

"I wanted you, to rescue him.  From himself." I tried to explain as my hands found her throat.  "You should have saved him from this darkness.  You are his WIFE!" I almost shouted, as her blazing eyes went wide and her mouth tried to scream.  I held her scream in my fists, and tried to choke her with it.  I would kill her with the hate she would have poisoned my friend with.  The wine gave me strength.

I don't know how long we sat there.  How long it took for the fire in her to fade, sputter, and extinguish.  I don't know how long I sat there, holding her throat, and weeping.  Long enough for the serpent coiled around my mind to loosen, and start to slither out of me.  The wine was wearing off, and I was holding the body of my best friend's wife.

I knew what I had to do.

I tied a rock to her waist outside the well.  I stared into it with a sense of familiarity.  Where had I seen this before?  This well ran deep, and you could just hear the tumult at the bottom.  It was the well of Akakios' eyes.  I kissed Berenike, a final farewell.  I threw her into the black maw of the earth.  A last look for Akakios, as she tumbled to the bottom, splashed, and sank.  She and her poison would sink into the deeps and never harm him again.

I went to my room, and slept.  When I awoke the next day, I would tell Akakios of the Persian traveller who I had seen talking to his wife as I went to bed.  He would fly into a rage, he would be engulfed in passion, he would be overcome with the need to find his beautiful Berenike.  He would not waste away in a depressed Madness.  We would search the globe fruitlessly, maybe for the rest of our lives, but I had done it.  With Berenike's help, I had trumped the gods.  My friend would be saved. I slipped into a troubled slumber.


It has been two full days of butchery at the order of Akakios. The village is empty.  No one knows what became of his wife, nor can speak of a Persian traveller.  The sun has set, and there is nothing to blind me anymore.  I can see Akakios on the hill, staring at the next town hungrily.  He wants answers.

Answers only I can give.

Answers he will never get, for now I fear my friend more than the atrocities I have committed.  I trudge through the slick street towards the man that was once my friend.  I push my way through the wailing dead, the spirits that clog the air and call me betrayer.  I will contend with them for the rest of time.

Better that than the wrath of Akakios.

Better them than me.

2 comments:

  1. I was once told that the work you don't like is the stuff you should focus on the most. I don't know if that's true, but this is actually my favourite of the stories you have up so far.

    I'd be interested to hear why you don't like it.

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  2. That sounds apt... focusing on what you like would be a poor way to improve, I suppose.

    Most of my trouble with it is that it got away from me. The whole thing went in a direction that I hadn't thought through at all, and I feel like the narrator's motivations aren't very well done or even properly explained. I think if I were to do this properly it would have to be considerably longer... we'll see I suppose.

    Thanks for reading, eh!

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