An Inheritance (part IV)

The Story of Isocrates

Ch. 4

For the umpteenth time, Isocrates turned over in bed, trying to get comfortable, but it did not help. In the inky dark, Stripe could be heard snoring loudly from where he lay curled up, on the floor, next to the bed. Though counter intuitive, Isocrates wondered if it were possible for one to be too tired to sleep. He was beyond exhausted – he craved repose, and yet he was wide awake. He shifted again.

At first, Stripe had been bothered by – and attentive to – his master’s restlessness, but at some point, the dog had lost interest. Thusly abandoned to suffer his exhaustion alone, all he could do was toss and turn. Now he had settled on a supine position, for the time being; he tried every which way, to no avail. Perhaps it was the terrible dream keeping him up – avoidance on the part of his subconscious. Then again, the issue might well have been anxiety.

He certainly had gotten himself into a mess.

It started raining, evident by a soft pitter patter that blended in with the sound of Stripe’s heavy snores. The rain seemed to be helping somehow, having a lulling effect, as slumber finally began to take hold. Of a sudden, he felt something small and hairy scuttle across his face, snapping him back to alert; he whacked his own nose, swatting at the thing.

Leaping from the bed, he scrambled for his flint-and-pyrite; in his haste, he knocked it off the table, onto the floor. He dropped and began to scramble around in the dark; he felt all around, but had no luck. While scouring the spot where he thought he heard it land, Stripe came over to assist, but only got in the way. In utter frustration, he gave up searching and made a mad dash out of the bedroom – he would get some fire at the hearth.

There was a dresser in the hallway that slipped his mind; his memory was jogged when he stubbed his toe hard. Pain shot up through his leg; he cursed out loud. Stripe caught up with him, as he set off yet again.

The darkness grew less oppressive, the closer he drew to his destination, the light of the hearth emanating from up ahead. Once he reached the andron, he grabbed an unlit torch from a wall-sconce; moments later, he had it ignited. Torch in hand, he hurried back to his quarters, meaning to see the spider dead, once and for all.

He entered his room, and immediately inspected the bed, making sure to check beneath the linens. The spider was gone. He swung the torch about and frantically scanned the whole room – the walls, the floor, and even the ceiling. Stripe was still on his heels, and matching his energy, growling as if to give a warning to an intruder. Isocrates continued to sweep the room with his search-beam, although he realized that it was pointless by then.

Even after going through the house and lighting every torch and candle, Isocrates did not feel at ease. The fact that he was violated in his own bed. He had tried washing his face, but his skin still crawled. He was not particularly frightened of spiders – he was not particularly fond of them either – but this was something different.

It had become personal.

His bed was off limits, at least until he had a chance to swap out his linens; the current set might just end up in the hearth. Now for obvious reasons, moving to his father's quarters was out of the question – it was just too soon. That left those of his younger, and his late older brother; he settled on the former, as there were less cobwebs. Stripe seemed to be fine with the relocation; the dog had found the room’s darkest corner, and was back to snoring again.

But Isocrates’ mind was molasses from the lack of sleep; all the walking he did throughout the day only made it worse. And yet sleep remained elusive; he just could not seem to wind down, and his toe was throbbing something awful. He could find no relief, not for his foot, or his mind, or his soul – which was most certainly damned. In a state of delirium, he lay there and suffered by the light of many torches, until the daylight retuned.

By then, he had decided against wasting his time calling on his remaining neighbors, only to be denied. Even if they did agree to pay more, which was doubtful, the last few farms would not provide enough, anyway. He would have to go see Tersios, and throw himself at his mercy; the plan was less than ideal, but he lacked options.

***

Isocrates was up and packing for his journey northward, hoping that it would not be a one-way-trip. He was fairly confident that Tersios would not resort to violence – with so many soldiers there as witnesses. Assuming that he was allowed to return, it still would be several days, to get there and back.

So, in addition to a skin, he bagged up some dried meat, and some loaves of bread, as space would allow. He also threw in some rabbit-snares, and some fishing-line and hooks; gods willing, he would have more than he needed. Now Stripe would have to eat too, but that was not an issue; the dog was a fine hunter, in its own right.

Of course, he pocketed his flint-and-pyrite, fire being a gift from the gods – one that always comes in handy. He also made sure to grab his hunting-knife, another essential, with myriad usages, and applications. The sound of barking outside, drew him from his task; he tied the sheath to his waist, and went to investigate.

It took a while to get to the vestibule, as he started from the kitchens. At some point, the barking stopped. Finally, he reached the door and opened it, to find his good friend Delearces reaching out to knock – Stripe was posted up beside him.

“I heard about Lord Kleitos; I’m terribly sorry for your loss.” Said Delearces, clearly devastated.

“I’m reeling from the discovery.” Replied Isocrates.

“I’m sure that you are, and I should add, you don’t look well.”

“I haven’t really slept much, at all.”

“And it shows.” Said Delearces, shaking his head.

The men exchanged a handshake only known by the two of them, something which they had done since childhood.

Being that they were the same age, and lived in such close proximity, the two had grown up together, thick-as-thieves. Their enlistment services had even coincided, although Isocrates had three months added, to make up for his leave. Inviting his guest inside, he led him to the andron; Stripe brought up the rear.

They took a seat at the table, and Delearces’ attention was immediately drawn to the damaged surface.

“What happened here?”

“A freak accident.” Was all Isocrates cared to offer.

Delearces was clearly confused, but he seemed to let it pass, “I doubt that you’ll recognize Antipas, he’s getting huge.” Said he, in reference to his adolescent sibling.

“You should’ve brought him then; I would have liked to have seen him.”

“He can’t keep his mouth shut.”

“Is there a secret that I’m unaware of?”

“I’m not supposed to be here.”

“But you’re a grown man!” Isocrates reminded him, finding the idea of him sneaking rather comical.

“I still live in Father’s house.” Delearces responded, and threw up his hands.

Isocrates nodded, unable to argue there.

“I can’t recall the last time I saw him so angry.” Delearces went on.

“His feelings were very clear.” Spoke Isocrates. “Just now, I was preparing to leave; you nearly missed me.”

“That’s why I came so early, to prevent you from making a fool of yourself again.”

“I wasn’t planning on repeating the fiasco from yesterday.”

“Then where are you off to?”

“Somewhere else where I can make myself out an even bigger fool”

“Is that even possible?”

“Trust me; it is.”

“What aren’t you telling me?”

Isocrates looked away.

“Does it have anything to do with your demands from yesterday?”

“It does…but I’ve decided to go another route.”

“What do you need the money for?”

“Is this an interrogation?”

“I’m trying to help you!” Delearces said in earnest.

“Were that you could.” Responded Isocrates.

“Fine then; I’m sorry I even asked.”

“But you shouldn’t be; I’m the one who dug the hole.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just leave it alone.”

Delearces sighed, “You ought to visit Nikephoros.”

“The old man had slipped my mind.” Isocrates replied, in all honesty.

Nikephoros was the local priest, who maintained a modest temple higher on the mountain fastness. The priest was no source of revenue – his status was tax-exempt – as such, Isocrates forgot he was up there.

“That’s not the type of help that I need, at present.”

“I would beg to differ.” Were the words of Delearces.

“I’ll go when I return.”

“I still see no reason to keep your destination secret.”

“Where I’m going, doesn’t matter!” Isocrates replied testily.

For a time, neither spoke.

It was Delearces who finally broke the silence, “I guess I shouldn’t keep you from your engagement.” He said, rising from his seat.

Isocrates stood as well, and followed his friend to the door, “I’ll see you when I return.”

“May you be safe, then.” Replied Delearces.

They shook hands again.

You know, by now, that Stripe was in the mix; Delearces patted him on the head, before setting off. Isocrates watched his friend depart, before closing the door behind him. He then went to go and finish packing.

He knew that if he had brought Delearces up to speed on the matter, he would have insisted that he come along. But Isocrates did not wish to get his friend caught up in his web – his father, and Agapetus, were enough. He gathered up a few remaining items. After donning his mantle, he was all set.

As he headed for the door, he detected movement on the wall beside him; he turned to look, but only saw bare stone. There were no cracks, or crevices, and nothing to hide behind – he must have been mistaken. Sometimes the mind plays games.

He whistled for Stripe, and they headed out; unlike the day before, the sky was laden with dark clouds. It seemed as if there was more precipitation to come, on top of that which had fallen all throughout the night. But what is a little rain? Was Isocrates’ overall assessment – he could do with a break from crawling pests.

Although he was not looking forward to having to grovel before Tersios, he had to face him sooner or later. He figured, he might as well meet it head on; at least, that way it would be on his terms, and up the Fates. And, gods forbid, if he was prevented from returning home, the spider would become something of a moot point.

He would be heading in the opposite direction as the day prior; his neighbors farms were down at the southern foot. He still started on the same path, as there was only the one, that being the adjoining hill. But rather than descending all the way to the bottom, he veered off to his left, assuming a lateral course for a ways. Stripe did his own thing, but never ventured too far from his master, following in a roundabout sense.

Of a sudden, it was like the heavens opened, as rain started pouring; all Isocrates could do was take it in stride. He flipped his hood up over his head, thankful for his furry mantel, which for the most part, was water-repellant. Stripe seemed unbothered in the slightest, and might even have been enjoying himself, by the way we leapt about.

Isocrates was not so ebullient; he pulled his mantle tighter, and tried to keep his head down. The rain lasted long enough to further dampen his mood, if not his person, ending as suddenly as it had begun. The sky remained overcast, and everything was a murky gray, like the hillside – it was all the same.

Eventually, he came upon the entrance to the pass that he sought, which granted access northward up through the range. A rather unremarkable crevice, but men had died protecting this very spot; as such, this talk of new conflict was unsettling. Isocrates proceeded inside, and made his way through the narrow and shadowy stone corridor. Stripe bounded in after him; together, they followed the jagged lay of the fissure, flanked by towering walls.

A series of turns, meant one could only see but so far ahead; as if the Stygian darkness was not enough. They started on an incline, before the path gradually levelled off; the ground remained dangerously uneven. Isocrates used his spear as something of a walking-stick, careful lest he twist an ankle, which could spell catastrophe. The passageway did grow wider, but the shadows were hardly effected, the pale sky above, offered little help.

Stripe perked up, seeming to catch sight, or scent or something; he bolted off, and around a corner. Distant excited barking followed – Isocrates quickened his pace – now with the barking came a high-pitched shrill. And then all was quiet, and there was no more commotion, the unseen skirmish having concluded. It sounded as if Stripe had himself a rabbit, was Isocrates’ assumption, as he came upon the turn ahead. Before he got there, Stripe reappeared; in his mouth was the biggest, and fattest rabbit Isocrates had ever seen.

When Stripe brought his trophy closer, Isocrates noticed the tail was too bushy, and the creature’s overall build was not what he first expected. Its head was tightly clamped inside the maw of its captor, meaning the ears – or the lack thereof – were not visible. But Isocrates knew a marmot when he saw one. And this was a juicy one at that. Marmot meat was something he did enjoy – though he preferred his cooked.

Stripe was looking up at him and waiting, with carcass hanging; Isocrates thought it was a good time for a snack. He looked around for a decent place to sit; while everywhere was wet, he preferred rocks, over mud. He found someplace suitable, near a wall that he could lean up against, and went on to do as much. Stripe found a spot nearby, and started munching.

The moment Isocrates sat down, he felt the brunt of his fatigue, roll over him like a wave. He really did need to sleep, although it was not the time yet – there was plenty of day remaining, and plenty road ahead. It was hard to gauge the actual time, as the sky had hardly changed; at the latest, it might have been midday.

Isocrates had taken this path many times, in the past; there was a lake ahead that he meant to reach. That was where he planned on making camp, for the night, as it was something of a halfway point. Although admittedly, the way seemed longer than he recalled. It felt good being free of his baggage, for a moment – speaking of which, he reached in his pack. He brought out his own deipnon; the bread was stale, and nearly dry as the mutton-strips.

He could go for a bit of marmot.

While he had not planned on starting a fire until they got to the lake, he could always spark a temporary blaze. The marmot was big enough that he and Stripe could most certainly share. He looked over in the direction of his loyal companion; Stripe stared back, and let out a low growl. Isocrates took another bite of mutton-strip.

From his pack, he produced a small wooden bowl, which he filled with water from his skin, that he might share – although the thought of being petty did cross his mind. When he set the bowl down, he received a distrustful side-eye, and no gratitude – so much for his noble efforts. Some wine would have been nice, but he had decided against carrying multiple skins with him; he had more than enough gear.

After the repast, Isocrates put away his sundries, and prepared to rise and continue on his way. Having gotten comfortable, he was tempted to linger, but the longer he stayed, the cozier he became. When he went to stand, his body felt like a lead weight. But he had to move on, before he ended up camping here.

He powered through the lethargy, and trudged ahead; Stripe followed, leaving behind a pile of fur, and bone. They continued on for a good while – what felt like an eternity to Isocrates – but eventually, the ground began to take on a downward slope. While they still had some walking to do, Isocrates was relieved nonetheless; he knew they were getting close.

After a descent that lasted well into what had to be even, the path opened into a spacious and verdant dell. There was an abundance of trees, of the conifer variety, growing around what was a completely isolated lake; the area itself lay in a basin. Stripe disappeared in the surrounding heath. Ever so often, birds would squawk and take flight, giving Isocrates some idea of the hound’s location.

Isocrates set his pack down, and got out his snares.

Now he would be satisfied with a few rabbits, but he hoped there were more marmots about. He had planned on doing some fishing when he got here, but the hour was getting late. While it had never gotten very bright to begin with, the light was getting ever scanter. With his snares in place, he went to refill his waterskin.

While crouching down at the lakeside, he noticed that there was someone else on the bank with him. Only a few meters separated them. The stranger was on his knees, with his hands cupped together, scooping water up to drink. His upper body was bare, and he appeared to be wearing a pair of fur pantaloons.

How strange.

“Hail sir!” Isocrates said, to get the man’s attention.

The unknown figure looked in his direction, and Isocrates’ blood froze – the man had horns.

They both stood in unison, and while they were much the same height, Isocrates could now see that it was not a man at all. What he had mistaken for pantaloons were, in fact, goat legs. The bestial stranger sported a youthful beard, similar to Isocrates’ own, and he flashed a smile that carried no warmth, but seemed sinister. A nearby rustling in the grasses drew Isocrates attention.

He turned to see Stripe emerge, a large waterfowl in his mouth, then he looked back to where the stranger was standing, and he was gone. Isocrates gaze shot to the tree line, wondering where the thing had disappeared to. He saw no trace of it, but there were plenty of hiding places; it could be anywhere.

Or maybe he imagined the whole thing.

He was beginning to wonder, but it certainly seemed real. He hurried up and got a fire started anyway, against the encroaching dark. When he settled down, he found that he was unable to sleep yet again. With a belly full of waterfowl, Stripe had gone out like a light, but Isocrates only sat there – staring at the trees.

(to be continued…)

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