Pherenike - Chapter 42

Pherenike sacrificed the largest and most beautiful bull, dedicating it to the goddess Kybellar. Before thrusting the knife into the bull’s neck, she discreetly used Althea to blur the good creature’s vision and consciousness, ensuring it felt no pain — a detail unknown to all.

The high-ranking priests then laid the lifeless bull on the altar.

Pherenike ascended the altar like a conqueror. With the knife positioned more steeply than a straight line, she cut open the bull’s belly. Her elegant hand plunged between bone and flesh, staining the luxurious robes of Kybellaune red with blood. It was a savage act.

She cut around the heart like cutting off the cumbersome roots of a plant. Then with both hands, she extracted the enormous organ.

“Kybellaune!” A thunderous cheer erupted from the crowd who had been silently observing the ritual.

As much as slaughtering was the duty of women, dissection was the task of men — the former carrying emotional weight and the latter physical. However, Pherenike often did both, performing the duties expected of noble women in sacrifice rituals, as well as men’s work that was not typically asked of her.

She was not the one and only Kybellaune, just one of the many Sybylles and priests.

She did this for one reason: to silence the noisy ones.

Since her childhood, Pherenike had been a much-desired yet unwelcome presence in the sanctuary. Blessed that they wanted to fall on all fours on her feet. Yet, sometimes appearing ungrateful or irreverent. Like she had no idea the value of her blessings.

Was there no one more deserving? Why did Kybellar choose you? The elderly Kybellaune often pondered aloud to her pupil.

Pherenike shared these sentiments. She could never be as devout as expected, and the sanctuary was always a Procrustean bed for her. She was the traveler forcibly placed to lie on the bed.

They knew this too. Amidst their boundless reverence for the goddess’s favorite, they couldn’t help but feel disillusioned by Pherenike.

But their glory was a frame she could never fit into. Just like Procrustes’s bed, which was always too short or too long, even Procrustes himself eventually didn’t fit and was beheaded.

Yet, there were moments when Pherenike indisputably exhibited an undeniable aspect. As if showing there was nothing to worry about. Moments like now, dispelling any internal doubts about her.

The oracle had spoken, and the king and queen followed the oracle in Geotil, spending nine days there. To the faithful of the sanctuary, unlike perhaps the nobles of Lycus, there was no doubt about ‘the voice.’

They were convinced that Kybellaune was carrying the king’s son, a certainty shared by all.

Pherenike, bearing the child of an oracle, conducted the same rituals as before, particularly humbling herself to perform such glorious yet brutal acts alongside the Sybylles and priests, astounded everyone.

The child within her womb was not just a blessing for the royal family but also a blessing for the sanctuary. It was conceived in the sanctuary and was destined to walk alongside them throughout its life.

The prophecy spoke of the glory of Evdokia, and its mother was chosen by the goddess for the first time in two hundred years. The sanctuary already loved the unborn prince. They instinctively revered him, idolized him, while simultaneously calculating his utility.

King Epicydes had always kept a clear line between himself and the high priest, but the wise King Actor’s approach to the sanctuary was comparatively moderate. It was inevitable, given his wife was known as the daughter of Kybellar.

What would happen if his son was bathed in the goddess’s light? Freed from the ties to the sons of Pelagon, the sanctuary could achieve much more. Sweet, corrupting dreams floated through the sanctuary.

Those not dreaming were Pherenike, the old Sybylles, and a few nobles from Lykke disguised as priests. Only the extremely loyal or disloyal were not easily deceived. Pherenike acted as if she saw nothing, speaking and behaving impeccably, leaving no room for doubt in her conduct of the rituals.

The heads of the sacrifices were burned, the hearts thrown into the goddess’s river. The emptied carcasses, now hollow voids without its entrails, were given to the goddess’s lion. The thigh cuts from the bodies were offered to the wolves by the river, the sacred brother of the founding king.

The entrails were left for the eagles. These eagles flew over the site and circled the blue skies.

The Evdokian people believed that the smoke from their sacrifices would reach the gods. In a similar way, they believed that when an eagle on the ground consumed something sacred, it could also reach the goddess. They were the noble brothers of Linus, another husband of the goddess Kybellar.

Eventually, everything that was once a bull or goat disappeared without a trace.

After finishing their meal, the eagles with their heads soaked in blood took flight.

Pherenike, still drenched in blood, stood where the holy massacre had taken place, tightly clutching a piece of parchment.

* Procrustes: An antagonist in Greek mythology who lured travelers and made them fit his bed. If they were taller than the bed, he would cut off their legs or head to make them fit, and if they were shorter, he would stretch their limbs until they fit. The term “Procrustean bed” is used as a metaphor for forcing someone or something to conform to rigid standards or preconceived notions.