The Aeacidae

In the shadow of Mount Olympus, on a rugged coast untouched by time, stands a lighthouse unlike any known to mortal men. Its stones are carved with symbols older than the myths whispered in the halls of Athens. The lighthouse was the domain of Lysander Aeacidae, whose solemn duty was not to guide ships through treacherous waters, but to shepherd souls to Hades where they would either reside in Elysium—a paradisiacal place for the righteous and heroic souls—or Tartarus, a deep abyss used as a dungeon of torment and suffering for the wicked.

As descendants of Achilles, the Aeacidaes had been keepers of the lighthouse for time untold, and they would be custodians of this practice until the end of time. That was the price they had to pay after Themistocles Aeacidae had offended Zeus by refusing to let him bed his daughter on her wedding night to her husband, Cleon.

It was a lonely job being the lighthouse keeper. Zeus had forbidden the keepers to marry or to keep any female company while they held their position. He did permit male company, though, but that was only allowed on the island twice a month: once at the beginning and once at the end.

Lysander leaned on the balustrade as he eyed the approaching storm. The sky was bleeding from blue to black. The perfect white clouds were morphing into a morose grey. The gentle breeze that had sifted through Lysander’s blond locks had become stern and frustrated. The lighthouse keeper knew from experience that this wasn’t a common storm about to thrash the island with violent waves and batter the lighthouse with enraged winds. He sighed and tapped the balustrade as he made his way back into the lighthouse. He needed to prepare for his visitor. Would they be man or woman? The last one had been a man, and that had been decades ago. But he knew one thing for certain: his visitor was dead and they were refusing to leave the mortal realm to enter Hades.

The storm descended upon the island with a primal fury, a tempest so violent it seemed the gods of Mount Olympus had declared war upon the land below. The sea, whipped into a frenzied turmoil by howling winds, hurled itself against the island’s rugged cliffs with the force of a thousand armies, each wave a cataclysmic explosion of foam and thunder.

The storm raged at the lighthouse, as if all the anger of the ocean were focused upon this lone edifice. Lightning forked across the sky, a brilliant, jagged network of electric wrath, illuminating the scene in stark, fleeting glimpses—a vision of apocalyptic beauty.

Within the lighthouse, Lysander fought a battle, struggling to maintain the beacon. The light, a pulsing heartbeat, served as a guide for souls to reach Hades. The wind howled like a beast against the doors of the lighthouse. Lysander had double-bolted the doors and had also wedged a thick wooden baton to edge his bets, making sure the doors wouldn’t be blown off their hinges.

Then the wind died down to an almost whimper.

Lysander knew what was going to happen next. A knock was going to come at the lighthouse door. And it did. His visitor had arrived.

In the soft embrace of ivory fabric, a woman stood before Lysander with an elegance that whispered she was from an aristocratic family. Her hair, a cascade of intricate braids, twined around her head in a dance of shadow and light. Her complexion was a canvas of alabaster, luminous and smooth, etched with the gentlest hint of rose at her cheeks. Her eyes were Aegean blue, her lashes lay like delicate fans upon her skin, and her lips, a tender bow, were poised in serene repose. The gentle curve of her neck descended to shoulders graced with golden adornments, echoing the rich warmth of a distant sun. Her hands, slender and fair, rested gently against the soft folds of her garment, a silent testament to a beauty both timeless and untouched by the world’s clamour.

“My name is Lysander, keeper of this lighthouse. You are safe here. For now.”

“For now?” the woman asked delicately. “If I should stay here longer than necessary, what will happen to me? I’m already dead.”

Lysander wished not to divulge that kind of information, just yet anyway. “What is your name?”

“Selene,” she said as she took in Lysander’s domain. “It’s not what I expected. The tales I heard of this place… I thought it would be…”

“Grander?” Lysander asked, knowing this to be true. His past visitors had been of the same opinion.

“Yes, I suppose so.”

“I have to ask you a question.” Lysander went over to a window, the largest in the lighthouse, and viewed the scene outside. The storm had died down a little. It wouldn’t completely stop raging against the island and lighthouse until Selene had passed on her journey to Hades. “You may or may not know the answer.”

“Why I’m refusing to pass on from the mortal realm?”

“That’s the one.” Lysander continued to view the storm.

“I have been wronged,” Selene’s tone wasn’t caustic or vengeful. “I refuse to pass on to Hades until I’ve got my justice.”

“Can you not leave that to the gods?” Lysander turned and faced Selene. “Let them deal with the one who has wronged you.”

“No,” Selene’s response was soft and crisp. “I prefer to keep Zeus and his children out of my affairs. They tend to make matters worse.”

“You speak from personal experience.”

“I do.”

“You are dead,” Lysander said. “How do you intend to seek justice?”

“You,” Selene elegantly pointed her finger at the lighthouse keeper. “You will deal with the one who has wronged me.”

“And who has wronged you?”

“My father knowingly betrothed me to a monster called Alexandros,” Selene said.

“And he…”

“Yes, he murdered me after I was unable to birth him a son. We had three beautiful daughters.”

“This Alexandros killed them?”

“He did.

“Why?”

“He said girls are of no use to him,” Selene shrugged.

“And your father or the authorities did nothing about this.”

“Alexandros is a man of means, Lysander.”

Lysander knew what Selene was saying. Alexandros was a demi-god. “I am forbidden to harm anyone of a godly nature. How do you expect me to enact your revenge?”

“That is for you to decide, lighthouse keeper.”

It had been some time since Lysander had visited the mainland. Feeling the warmth of the sun on his face and experiencing the sights and sounds of mortals was a welcome relief. His stay on the mainland would be brief, but he intended to savour every minute. Spending so much time among the dead, guiding them to Hades, he sometimes forgot what it was like to be alive, despite being mortal himself.

Lysander found himself at the home of Alexandros in the town of Calussa, not a day’s travel from Athens. The home was neither humble nor extravagant, but it was clear that whoever lived there possessed some form of modest wealth.

Upon entering the garden, Lysander was greeted by an elderly man with wispy grey hair and a crooked back, who appeared to be a gardener or some kind of servant.

“Can I help you, kind sir?” the crooked man croaked. “Are you lost?”

“Not lost,” Lysander replied. “I’m looking for Alexandros. Where can I find him?”

“He’s recovering inside,” the crooked man said, tapping his head slowly with his worn, wrinkly hands.

“Mourning his wife,” Lysander stated.

“More like he’s mourning a bad head from drinking too much, which has led him to some poor life decisions in general.”

“I see,” Lysander nodded, understanding as he looked up at Alexandros’s home, which not too long ago had also belonged to Selene and her daughters.

“Do you know my master, kind sir?”

“I knew his wife.”

“Selene,” the crooked man said, almost in tears. “She was the most beautiful woman in all of Greece.”

And also in death, Lysander thought.

“I still can’t believe she threw herself off the cliffs into the sea. Such a sad tale.”

“She threw herself off?” Lysander inquired, intrigued. “Did you see her do it?”

“No, kind sir. My master saw her. He pleaded with her for a good hour not to be so foolish. But Mistress Selene was not of sound mind, apparently,” the crooked man lowered his head, a tear falling from his eye. “So very sad.”

“Your master Alexandros has lied to you, my friend,” Lysander said. “Mistress Selene didn’t throw herself off the cliffs. Your master killed his wife because she couldn’t give him a son. He killed their three daughters too because he had no need for them.”

The crooked man’s mouth fell agape. “I never knew they had three daughters. Poor Mistress Selene.” He shook his head, devastated by Lysander’s revelation. “How the wicked can lie. How my master has deceived me. Tell me, kind sir. How do you know this to be true?”

“My name is Lysander Aeacidae.”

“Aeacidae!” the man coughed. “Of the Lighthouse?”

“That’s the one,” he confirmed. “Your mistress won’t pass on to Hades until she has her justice. I need to help her pass on, but I believe your master has godly parentage.”

“It is said that Ares is his father.”

“I’m forbidden from taking the life of a demigod,” Lysander explained with deep sadness.

“But I’m not!” the crooked man exclaimed. “I can help avenge my mistress!”

“What is your name, my friend?” Lysander drew a long golden dagger from his cloak.

“Thebius.”

“Well, take this dagger, Thebius, and bring me the head of the monster who calls himself Alexandros. I shall then deliver it to your mistress.”

Thebius snatched the golden dagger from Lysander and darted away towards his master’s house. “I will do Mistress Selene proud!”

Lysander watched as Selene held Alexandros’s head by the hair, gazing into her husband’s dead brown eyes. Thebius had done a terrible job of removing his master’s head from his shoulders. Most of Alexandros’s head was still attached to his neck. Thebius was an eighty-two-year-old man, after all.

“It is time for you to move on,” Lysander said as Selene continued to gaze at Alexandros’s severed head. “I have done as you asked.”

“That you have,” Selene sighed, her eyes never leaving those of her husband’s. “I can see Thebius did a terrible job of killing my husband. I hope he suffered greatly. That brings me great comfort. If I could cry with joy, I would. I don’t suppose my sister was there by any chance, playing the grieving sibling?”

“Not that I’m aware of,” Lysander said.

“That’s a shame. It would have been more satisfying if Thebius had hacked off her head too,” Selene laughed. “Throwing myself off the cliff to torment Alexandros would have been even more worthwhile.”

“I’m sorry,” Lysander said, startled. “You threw yourself off the cliff? You said Alexandros did.”

“That I did. I lied.” A wicked smile emerged upon her beautiful, cunning face.

“And the story of your daughters? And you unable to give your husband a son?” The drama of Lysander’s actions came crashing down upon him. “Was that a lie too?”

“I had one daughter; she died a year ago. I killed her out of mercy. She was feeble and malnourished. Alexandros never forgave me and recently sought comfort in my sister’s arms.”

“He wasn’t a monster your father betrothed you to?” Lysander said angrily.

“Poetic license,” Selene said. “Everyone likes a Greek tragedy.”

“You killed yourself and then got Thebius to kill your husband because he fell in love with your sister?”

“That’s a simple and crude way of putting it,” Selene smiled. “I think it’s time I moved on to Hades now.”

“What have I done?” Lysander said, completely numb.

“You played a part in the murder of Ares’s son. He won’t be happy about that,” Selene grimaced as she made for the lighthouse door. As she opened the door, she was met by strong winds and lashing rain. “It’s been nice to meet you, Lysander Aeacidae. I have a feeling we’ll be seeing each other again soon.” With that, Selene blew Lysander a kiss, and the door slammed behind her as she left.

Lysander collapsed into his chair, utterly deflated and embarrassed by his actions. The storm outside was getting worse. He knew in a matter of time, a terrifying bolt of lightning would be heard. Then, a very slow knock would come at his door. Two gods would enter his lighthouse: Zeus and his son Ares, both seeking vengeance for the death of their grandson and son.

Lysander relaxed into his chair and rested his eyes on the door.

And waited.

And waited.

And waited…