The War God's Woman

24. Ancient History: Part Two

The king had no choice but to go to the Oracle of Apollo and listen to the god's words, given through a mortal mouthpiece.

'The princess has offended the gods. Your legacy will be doomed if you continue to ignore our warnings.'

"She is my daughter. How can I abandon her?" The king protested, tears in his eyes.

'Death and bloodshed will follow her. The fates had bound her to a monster, one who will harass the world with fire and iron. We have warned you. This is your last chance.'

The king returned to the kingdom and wept as he gave the orders for what had to be done.

                          Psyche was forced to wear a shroud, her arms and legs secured tightly in the material as if she were already dead. She thrashed and struggled as the gauze covered her face.

"Father!" She screamed. "Don't do this! Please!" But he'd already retreated to his bed, unable to watch the spectacle. The attendants tied her to a funeral table and carried her through the streets of the city in a solemn march – the wails of mourning eerily following in her wake. It was a funeral fit for a princess. But Psyche was alive to endure it.

"Sister!" Psyche pleaded, unable to see who was around her. "Save me!" Nobody replied to her pleading, they refused to look at her. The gods had decreed that she must die and they dared not offend them. Rain fell, spitting down on Psyche and her dark shroud. "I've done nothing wrong!" Psyche sobbed. 

They carried her out of the city and up into the mountains. The solemn priests of Apollo sternly watching the proceedings, to ensure that no trickery could be attempted. As they climbed the mountain, the air turned cold and Psyche shivered, her tears turning to ice on her face. The mourning wails subdued.

They left Psyche, arms and feet bound, on the high slopes of the rocky mountain. A gift for the gods. A sacrifice. 

                      Night fell and Psyche wept. The sound ripping of fabric cut through the night and Psyche's head emerged from its wrappings. The rain turned to snow and she crawled like a worm on her belly, searching for a jagged rock to saw her bonds with. Snow crunched beneath her chest, soaking her front and stealing the last of her body heat.

"I don't want to die." She sobbed, feeling utterly alone. In the snow storm, she couldn't even see the lights of her kingdom in the valley below. Wolves howled, their cries chillingly close, and she stifled a sob and crawled faster. She found a stone and got to work. But her hands were clumsy from the cold and, in her fumbling, she sliced her hand. Blood wept from her palm and seeped into the rope. Psyche hissed, dropping the rock in her reaction to the pain. A sound, from close behind her, made her stiffen and she turned her head in its direction – her breathing shaky.

She was blind in the dark without torchlight and she tensed, thinking about wolves. But it was footsteps that she heard.

"Who's there?" She asked, hope clawing. "Sàrka?" Had her sister come to save her?

"No." It was a male voice that answered. One she didn't recognise. She trembled. "Your family has left you here to die." The voice mused.

Silent tears continued to fall down Psyche's face.

"I don't want to die."