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The 'New Dawn' partyThe 'New Dawn' party
A lot of things happened to me and with me during my years in Argos. Most of it will not be a part of this story, because it was mostly about small town plotting, and the way I handled it was similar to that Derianda story I experienced during my last months at the New Pantheon. Nevertheless I developed a lot as a human being. I got over Neario for instance. It took a while, and he is still a bittersweet memory stored in a golden box in one of the inner chambers of my soul.
Then I found new friends and had some lovers. Nothing sparkling or fantastic, more in the way of being cozy and pleasant. Cheiron and I did sleep with each other once "but mostly out of curiosity. I also had a try at being a deity. Not so much as through mortal followers (although I acquired quite a few Argosites when I set out against Ostasus) but more through immortal politics, which eventually took me to the Hyperpantheon. But let's not rush ahead of events.
I learned that
Argos was to become the next chapter in my life though. Argos, located on the river banks of Gerdya, was at that time a middle-sized town with about 200 000 inhibitors, and gained its income from textile industries and tourism to the hot spring spas at the northern edge of the town. These springs were connected to the old volcano Diro.
Diro had had an incarnated god warding the town as well as keeping the mountain under control. But he, like so many others, had become a victim of the Titans, and now the mountain looked sad and lonely when you entered the town via the east-bound railway. Like that poor volcano was actually missing it's keeper. (At that time we had no knowledge about quantum-base-connections between dead and living things and how incarnations actually worked. We only knew that it did work, that some deities were born intimately connected to powerful natural phenomenas and forces.)
Cheiron lived in a part of Argos called Western Ground. I mindcalled ahead,
Hera on the runHera on the run
"But why?" Hestia looked at me with puzzled eyes.
"That's not an answer. "
"Something happened. "
"Where? Here at New Pantheon? "
"Yes, here at New Pantheon. "
"Someone did something to you? Said something to you? Hera, you don't have to leave because someone..."
"I did something. A mistake."
"Let's just say I screwed up. Big time. And now I have to leave before... Well, there are certain people I don't want to see right now."
"Hera, what happened? What did you..."
"Hestia, I might tell you later. But at the moment I don't care to talk about it. "
"Please, I'm your friend. I wont tell anyone. Promise. "
"Promise! Not even to Iris."
"Especially not Iris. I love her dearly but she's too talkative, especially after a few glasses of wine."
"OK... To cut a long story short... I slept with Zeus. "
Oddly enough Hestia didn't look that surprised. She only asked:
"Yesterday! At the Solstice party."
"Hahaha! Welcome to the club, lassie!"
Late night mistakeLate Night Mistake
I left Themis with her sour face and her spilled wine and absent-mindedly I walked out in one of the living rooms, where I met Nyx. She was sitting at a table, half-finished dish of ambrosia beside her and tearing through her braided, jetblack hair with restless chocolate-coloured hands while looking at a puzzle of small pieces of paper spread out over the table.
Back in the war the dark-skinned girl had been a trapper and a healer. And because of her ability to see in the dark she was called Queen of the Night. How come war deeds always sound so glamorous in the rear view mirror? Now she has merged her two abilities, the medicine and the research skill, to work with something that looked rather dull but was no less important than to find secret tracks and heal wounded Warsisters and -brothers.
Each paper carried a name, the names of us in the New Pantheon together with a lot of others, most of them more or less familiar. Other immortals.
" What is this? "
Abandoned ChapelThe parish waits now,
the loneliness of corners
crawling outward on walls--
chipped away by the wind,
and held together
by silk spindles;
cobwebs align them like the membranes of memories,
the cut of a jewel in an broken window
against the sun
where beads of rain
gather in a mesh of strands
a new Mosaic
against the backdrop of a cemetery;
My eyes seek out the sermon
in close proximity,
paint no distance
between headstone and cloud;
elegies topple each other
in their climb to heaven
as light trickles
over the shade,
breathes a new glow over snuffed candles.
I feel the weight in these empty rows,
how a breath couldn't cease to be breath
in the midst of prayer.
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