The Curse of the Sun

The man was beautiful. Long golden hair rested lightly on his shoulders, tanned bronze from the sunlight. He wore the purest white robes I had ever seen. He had no sandals, but the sharp stones of the earth seemed to almost move out of the way of his perfectly sculpted feet. His fingers were strong, yet slender. He had an archer’s hands, but he told me he was no soldier.

               As a priestess, I had long ago taken a vow of maidenhood. No man would touch me, for I belonged to the gods alone. Lord Apollo himself had blessed me for this, a gift of prophecy. The people of Troy came to me every day, asking what to expect from the harvest, and if their children would survive illness. I had never been wrong.

This didn’t stop the man from pursuing me, however. Every day he would come to the temple, waiting outside on the polished marble steps. The scorching heat of the sun seemed to not bother him in the least, he didn’t even sweat a drop.

               One day, perhaps a month after he first appeared, I called out to him from the top of the stairs.

               “Might I inquire as to your intentions on this day, sir?”

               He looked up at me, and in an instant was standing beside me. I hadn’t even seen him move, he was so quick. His perfect hand touched my cheek briefly as he brushed a few stray strands of dark hair behind my ear.

               “Cassandra, my love, I only hope to gain your affections. You are to me as the sun is to the earth, beautiful and desirable, for both comfort and for warmth.”

               I had never seen anything like his eyes. They were light and golden, as if the sun itself was behind them. He smelled like a summer’s day, calming and revitalizing. Unexpectedly, a vision flashed in my head. The man was dangerous, warned my gift. I broke out of the trance and stepped back, pushing his hand away from my face.

               “I live to serve the gods alone, and have sworn to do so for the rest of my days.”

               He smiled then. It was brilliant, almost blinding. He moved towards me once again, and I found the cold, ungiving marble wall on the temple was behind me. His lips grazed my ear and he whispered, “And what if I am one of these gods you speak of? Will you serve me as you once vowed to do so?”

               I shoved him roughly then, and his amusement suddenly dissolved into barely contained rage. His eyes, before so warm and golden, were shining with the burning fury of a thousand suns.

               “This is blasphemy you speak!” I sputtered, ashamed that I had, for a moment, considered breaking my vow.

               At that proclamation, he began to swell in size, growing as tall as the temple itself. His weight cracked the marble steps under his feet. Trembling with fear at the realization of my mistake, I dropped down to the floor and bowed. “Lord Apollo, hear my plea for forgiveness and-“

               “FORGIVENESS? A PRIESTESS OF THE GODS DOES NOT RECOGNIZE THE ONE SHE WORSHIPS AND SHE HAS THE AUDACITY TO BEG FOR FORGIVENESS?”

               I cowered silently, not knowing what else to do.

               “I WOULD HAVE MADE YOU A GODDESS, RISEN ABOVE ALL OTHER MORTALS. I WOULD HAVE GIVEN YOU ANYTHING YOU ASKED OF ME, AND MORE THAN THAT. FOR YOUR DISOBEDIENCE, I SHALL TURN YOUR GIFT INTO A CURSE. YOU WILL HAVE VISIONS OF DEATH AND DESTRUCTION, AND YET NO ONE WILL BELIEVE YOU. YOU SHALL WANDER THE EARTH FOR THE REST OF YOUR DAYS, TURNED AWAY FROM EVERY PLACE YOU SEEK SHELTER. YOU WILL WATCH YOUR CITY BURN TO THE GROUND.”

               With that, he vanished in a flash of light, leaving me to my dark fate. I wept at my misfortune, and wrapped myself in black garments. I fled Troy that very night, knowing that I couldn’t bear to be turned away from my own home. As I passed through the city gates, I had a vision.

               Death was everywhere. It was in the smoke filling the sky, in the blood of my people covering the weapons of strange soldiers. Death was in the screams piercing through the dark and the destruction. There was an unfamiliar structure in the middle of the chaos, in the shape of a horse constructed of wood.

               I gasped, shaken by the awful power of the vision. I ran back into the city, shouting until my voice gave out that Troy was in danger. The people stared, and for a moment I was hopeful that they would believe me as they always had before.

               Then they laughed. They mocked me, and I wept. I tried explaining what had happened, but it was no use. They drove me out of the city, and locked the gates behind me. I was alone.

               Three long years passed, years spent sleeping on cold, unforgiving earth and visions so terrible they sent me into fits that lasted for many days. I had cried so many tears that I had carved lines into my once smooth face. My hair, without a comb to brush it, had become such a tangled mess that I’d had to shear it off. My garments were practically shreds, barely covering my body. My arms and legs were bruised from my flailing fits.

               I found myself back near Troy. Just outside of the city, there were legions of soldiers. They were sleeping in tents on the ground, and looked as if they had been there for a long time. They were building something. Men were tearing down the forests to make use of the wood, and others were beginning to assemble it. I remembered my vision, shuddering, but I knew better than to try and warn my people. I had long ago made peace with my fate, so I instead laid on the ground and watched, knowing my suffering was close to an end.

               It took the soldiers three days to build the wooden horse. As they were building, they began to pack up their tents. Any extra men left the camp, disappearing into what was left of the forests surrounding the land. After it was complete, they pushed it to the gates. Just beyond them, I could see the top of the temple reflecting the setting sun.

               I awoke to the creaking sounds of the wooden animal being pushed through the gates. The people of Troy were celebrating, believing the enemy to have surrendered. It was dark out, almost black as pitch. I sat up and waited. It didn’t take long.

               My gift, or curse, sent me one last vision. Instead of the future, however, it was the present. I was seeing the inside of my city.

               One by one, soldiers exited the horse. There were only about twenty of them, but they all had weapons. The men had torches with them, and used the dying embers of celebratory fires to light them. They used the torches to set nearby homes ablaze. The occupants would run out, screaming, only to be cut down by an enemy blade. There was no chance for anyone to escape, and many were drunk from wine at the parties.

               The fire spread quickly, and within minutes it was everywhere. Many people collapsed from inhaling the smoke, and chaos reigned. The other soldiers, whom I had foolishly though had left, were let in by their own men through the gate.

               Troy had fallen.