Alpha Arcadia

"... Now go. Go!" Nonacris, wife to the King of Arcadia ushered a young slave girl from her room moments before Lycaon pushed back the curtain and took her place.

"Husband, you have returned. Come. What news have you?"

Lycaon took the outstretched hand of his beloved and bent to press his lips to her wrist. "He comes today. We will hold a feast in His honor where He will devour of His own flesh, and we will beg for His mercy from the deception laid upon Him."

Nonacris winced, turning away. "When I saw Him lying there, asleep in the sun, I only thought to our son that was still growing inside. When I stole his seed, it was only with the hope that it would make Nyctimus strong and clever enough to hold the whole of Arcadia in the palm of his hand, ruling long after we have returned to the dirt."

Lycaon stepped behind his wife and rested his heavy hands upon her shoulders. "I carry no ill will for you, my love. I never could. I only worry for you and what must be done."

Nonacris shook her head in response. "I have borne you many sons, and I will many more. We must make amends for our family and our region."

The king nodded and stepped away, his attention drawing to the crib, and the child cooing inside. He reached in to raise his son from his bed, coddling him in his arms, "I will take Nyctimus-."

"No!" Nonacris rushed to her husband, her eyes wide with urgency. "No. I will take him. Allow me to feed him, so he is fat for our guest. To honor Him. It is my duty, just as yours is to see that all is forgiven."

Lycaon studied his wife. She was not prone to emotional outbursts. He searched her eyes for fears he should be wary but found nothing, save for a mother wishing to say farewell to her child. He'd hand Nyctimus over, press his lips to her forehead, and back out of her chamber.

Hours later, Nonacris exited her home and stepped onto the path that led into the worker's quarter. She drew up a silken cloth over her hair and readjusted the basket tucked into the crook of her elbow. With a final swallow of the lump in her throat, dropping it down to the pit of her stomach, Nonacris cleared her face of thought and started on her way.

She could live for eons and never grow tired of the sounds and smells here. Shops and stalls lined the long road; soot and stone, manure and sweat filled her nose as she passed the blacksmith who was busy shaping shoes for the horses. Further on, she tucked into her favorite booth where the flowers hung in rows to dry. Three women sat circled, weaving stems into wreaths, garlands of hyacinths and honeysuckle already completed and laid to the side, their rich aromas dancing around the queen. Fingers outstretched, she dragged them along the vines created, just to feel the soft petals against her skin as she passed.

Across the path, three more women lined the edge of the walkway, each standing before a pestle, pounding the grain inside. Another cranked a rotary hand quern for grinding the flour. Their arms were strong and slick with dew, the task taking hours to complete. Behind them, two more women scooped bowls of the powder into sieves to sift out any remaining bran, while a last added water to a bowl and began to knead it into dough to make the bread.

Upon seeing her queen, she stopped to wipe off her hands, calling her over. She broke off a piece of a completed loaf and placed it onto a ceramic plate. "Please. Please, try. We will serve it at the feast. This one is goat's cheese and honey. I can bring the poppy if you like?"

"No, this is fine." Switching the basket into the crook of her opposite arm, plucked the bread from the saucer, nibbling off a piece. "This is lovely. I am sure our guest will be quite pleased."

The baker gave a low curtsy and returned to her work, kneading the new loaf.

Nonacris smiled, returning to her walk, taking bites of the morsel until it was finished. She scanned her eyes around, absorbing everything she could. They were workers, but they all seemed so content with their lives. She watched them in their tasks and moved from one spot to the other like bees in the fields. She continued on, thinking about what it would be like to live such a simplistic life, but pushed the thought back. Today she would enjoy every sight. Every moment of unbridled laughter shared between friends.

Every breath...

She stopped in front of the door to the butcher.

... fore this day would be her last.

---

Lycaon stepped back to survey the theater. Where the day prior was not but empty space, today were decorative pillars wrapped with vines of bloomed lilies woven into ivy moved into a position to make corners around a long table. The slaves were dressing the banquet with the garland and moving chairs into place. Eight on each side, two at one end, a long wooden kline covered in pillowing at the other.

"Husband of mine, it looks remarkable."

The king turned to see his bride step up beside him and lace her arm through his. She was as beautiful as the day he first saw her. Her long hair was braided and circling her head like a crown, and though now it was streaked with gray, it mattered little. He would still spend all day wrapped up in it as they lie in bed.

Nonacris turned to face him, catching his eye "Why do you look at me so, Lycaon?" She knew what he was going to say. It was their game.

"Your beauty is ageless. Nothing would please me more than to drown in the sea of your eyes. If I never lived to see another day I would enter Tartarus with my arms wide, as you have allowed me to be by your side for all of these years."

She laughed and adjusted the wolven broach used to clasp his linen chiton at his shoulder "You are pitiful, my love."

Up to them ran a young man, pale and fearful.

"The storms have come."

---

He was magnificent.

Lycaon could not tear his eyes away from the male in all of His majesty as they sat on opposite ends of the table, surrounded on either side by sons of Arcadia and their wives. They all stared, as hard as they tried not to, fore they were in the presence of The King.

As they settled, the slaves descended the steps into the theater in a line, each carrying a platter for their feast. They traveled around the table as they came in, placing long plates in front of the guests, exiting the same way they came in. The last of which carried a larger plate, smelling of sweet meat encrusted with a strong aroma of herbs. They all watched as the platter was placed before The King, who in return did not take his eyes from all of them.

The table was covered end to end with fruits and vegetables; loaves of bread and cheeses; wines and meats. All that Lycaon could command of his people to exemplify his station and impress his Patron.

"Mighty Stormbringer, King of all Gods, we thank you for hearing our plea and gracing us with your presence. We are eternally humbled," Lycaon's voice echoed as he rose from his chair.

The King's eyes narrowed. The words said gracious, but his tone told a story of arrogance and conceit. Nevertheless, he smiled behind his pale beard. "And deny a devout partisan such an adamant request? I could have easily burned your city to the ground for your misdoings, but when I heard your offer, I became curious." His deep coral eyes shifted to Nonacris for but a moment before returning.

She never removed her eyes from him.

The King pulled the cloth from his platter, his eyes taking in the roasted meat that lay beneath. If he knew not, he would assume it slept as its limbs curled under its plump middle.

"My son"

"My son" Nonacris bit back.

Their guest ignored the retort. He would grab the child by the toe between his forefinger and thumb and lift its limp body into the air, high above his head to lower it into his mouth, swallowing whole. The prophecy was broken. Admittedly, it was quite delicious. Unnecessary, but when insisted, it was difficult to deny the human delicacies they pride themselves on-

His face contorted.

He bent forward, retching.

Everyone at the table stopped and turned to their Patron, faces filled with horror.

Everyone but Nonacris.

Lycaon dropped his hands to the table beside his wife. "What did you do?"

The corners of her lips curled as she watched.

"Tell me, did you not notice the child you cradled in your arms was not yours? You held him to your breast. You called him by name, but you did not know. Your vanity was enough to condemn my son to death." Her face was stoic as she sat, watching the God struggle to pull himself upright, his palms heavy on the table before him. "Did you believe you were the only one with Seers, Cloud-Gatherer? The only one who knew the fate they told? The child you devoured was a slave girl's babe; a full-fleshed mortal."

The King's eyes scanned around the table. Her words echoed in his ears. How many of them knew. How many of them planned to make a fool of him. His eyes stopped on the broach. What did they call him here? Zeus Lykaios... Wolf-Zeus.

The cracks were nauseating. The screams were worse.

Men around the table contorted and twisted, their bones snapping. Elongating. Thrashing under their stretching skin. In moments, the quiet feast was scorn with red. The sons ripped into their women.

He smiled as they became what they admired the most. Not of man. Not of wolf.

His eyes shifted back to Nonacris who had not removed her eyes from him, her face unchanged.

"You will never find my son."

And she did not move as her beloved Lycaon latched his jaw around her throat, spilled her blood across the table before them.

The King pushed himself from the kline on which he sat, bare feet never quite touching the ground, and overturned the gored feast before him.

One foot after the other he ascended the incline out of the theater, stepping clear of twisted and torn asunder guests and slaves alike.

They were all so fragile, these creatures. Their practicality wore thin.

At the peak of his climb, he ceased, eyes surveying out into the city.

Mortals ran to and from one another. Beasts hungered for flesh as none had ever touched their tongues prior, ripping it from friends, family, or foe. It mattered not.

The King raised a hand to the sky.

Dark clouds circled above akin to vultures over a kill, and as he brought it down, his mighty bolts cracked and struck where they met the earth, slicing through buildings to light them ablaze; spearing through soft bodies as if willed by a Spartan.

With them came the Four Winds; his Hounds.

"Harpyiai." Thunder rolled from his lips. "Purge these beasts."

The Winds gust and blew, circling the sons, one by one plucking them from the ground.

His smile recoiled into a sinister shape as he watched his pets tear through his hosts, flippantly mangle and shredding, pulling their souls from their bodies for the ferryman.

Above, the clouds broke, allowing a prism of pigment to arc through and touch down behind him.

He turned, ever so slightly, "Find the boy."

The figure behind him nodded, but he had returned his attention back to the scene before them; A massacre. Wolves on two legs. Fighting and devouring, dying in the clawed grip of the Harpyiai. With a heaved gust, her golden wings lifted her back into the voltaic sky above.

Mílions away at the edge of the mountain range, a young female pushed herself onto the rocky path leading up... up into Mount Lykaion that wrapped its strong arms around this haunted land, her own clutched around a sleeping babe swaddled to her breast. She looked back only once to see her home choking to death by fire and godly retribution.

She never looked back again.