He shook his head. “Of course not. That’s why I’m going to go back to the beginning. I’m going to tell you my story, Caia. I’m going to tell you why this war really began.”
2 – The Illiadic Truth
Athens, Greece 461 B.C.
His heart thudded rapidly behind its thick-boned prison, the pulse in his neck throbbing with anxiety. He almost smiled at that. If he weren’t a vampyre his parents, Phaedrus and Xanthippe, would consider him an impossibly delicious meal with that vein pulsing them into temptation. Instead they looked up at him in bewilderment, their mouths and chins smeared thick with the blood and skin of the unconscious man in their arms. They sat crowded together on one of the pillowed kline’s in the andron where his father held Symposia in their home. The man’s feet dragged to the floor, the light chiton he wore coming undone from the obvious struggle he had undergone at the hands of Kirios’ parents. Blood stained the fabric and ran in rivulets from his masticated neck to puddle on the mosaic floor. Kirios watched as it spread into the expensive tiling, wondering how on earth they would explain the stain. He frowned… perhaps his father would say wine had been spilled during one of the vigorous symposiums he held to blend in with the men he served with on the Heliaia, the jury of the supreme court of Athens.
“We thought you might like to finish him off?” Xanthippe smiled, a horrifying, gory gargle of the man’s life blood distorting her voice.
Kirios shook his head in a mixture of anger and despair. His parents were never going to understand. They were so old, two of the first souls to be sent by Hades back from the Underworld to wreak revenge. They had once been so savage it was a miracle they had ever fallen in love with one another. But two thousand years of immortal nomadic life seemed to have grown dull for them, and they had fallen into a companionship of killing, making love and looting Tholos tombs, before growing rich on the growing Mycenaean trade. Their strange life in Athens had only begun after Hades had stolen Persephone into the Underworld and made her his Queen. Her mother, the goddess Demeter, in outrage ‘blessed’ his vampyres with fertility. And living actively (rather than their usual avoidance) through the Greco-Persian wars with souls easier burdened than before had changed everything for Xanthippe and Phaedrus. There is nothing on earth that can put one more in touch with humanity than war and his mother was no longer the flagitious animal she had once been… well… to an extent. Despite her appetite and nature she had grown to love her husband and wanted a child. So they had come to Athens and insinuated themselves into the middle-class region of the polis in order to raise their son. But Kirios hadn’t been what they were expecting. He had powers of mesmerism and an appetite for blood, but he did not have the soul of a killer.
Looking away from the dark sight before him he sighed, remembering his thirteenth year. They had always brought him his blood as a child, now they wanted him to learn to fend for himself… to execute his first kill. The memory pierced him like a spear. How disgusted he had been by what they wanted of him. He had no taste for killing humans, and although he loved his parents, it was becoming clear they were never going to understand that vital fact.
And the truth was… looking upon the painful sight of the man dying in his parents’ arms… Kirios did not think he could stand by and watch them murder innocents any longer. He was in his eighteenth year now. It was time to-
His jaw dropped as he suddenly recognized the dying figure in their arms. “Are you insane?!” he hissed. “That’s Ephialtes!”
“Be silent,” Phaedrus ordered quietly, steel warning in his tone. “Anyone may hear you.”
Kirios felt himself paling, as if it were even possible for him to be any paler. “Father, you’ve killed a statesman of the Democratic Party. He’s Perikles’ bloody mentor, for Gaia’s sakes! Have you gone mad?” Perikles was one of the most influential, popular, wealthiest members of the demos.
Xanthippe shrugged. “We’re leaving Athens… and Ephialtes has always annoyed me. I thought it a fitting going away present to myself.”
Kirios shook his head in disbelief. “How on the gods are you going to fix this mess before you leave?”
Phaedrus was annoyed by his question. “The usual… we’ll leave him somewhere and mesmerize someone else to take the blame. Perhaps Perikles.”
“You will not,” Kirios snapped, inwardly surprised he was standing up to his father.
Phaedrus looked just as shocked. “I beg your pardon?”
“Father, please promise me that you will not put the blame on Perikles. You are leaving Athens… please do not leave it in a complete upheaval by killing one member of the Democratic Party and turning another into a murderer.”
“How dull of you, son.”
“I happen to be fond of my city. That is all.”
Xanthippe sighed. “Oh, very well. We promise.”
“Thank you.” He exhaled in relief, running his hands through his hair in frustration before turning from them. He couldn’t bear to look any longer at the mess they had made of Ephialtes.
“We leave at dusk,” Phaedrus informed him.
His heart began pounding again. Gods, he hoped they didn’t overreact. “I’m not coming with you. I mean… I’m leaving too… but not with you.”
At their continued silence he finally got up the nerve to turn and look at them. Their faces were mirror images of their usual blankness. “I’m not like you,” he tried to explain.
Finally Xanthippe sighed. “We know. We… are trying to understand.”
Kirios smiled at that. It was more than anyone could ask of them. “I know. But you never will. So… I must leave you both.”
Phaedrus growled, “You are more human than vampyre… I curse Demeter for this.”
Even Xanthippe gasped. Kirios frowned. “Father, please don’t. I don’t want anything to happen to you.”
“You are my son. You should be with me, exhilarating in the kill.”
He felt so helpless in the face of his father’s despair. So much the disappointment. “I am truly sorry, Father.”