The Argive Ch. 036-040

The Argive -- Chapters 036-040

*****

Chapter 36: Goodbye

All thoughts of Spartans and war were swiftly removed from Praxis' thoughts as he was confronted with the idea of mortality.

Not his own, but his mother's.

He was so struck by the severity of his stepfather's words that Damian had to repeat them.

"You might want to say your goodbyes now," the king urged. "If you don't do it now, you won't get another chance."

Praxis nodded solemnly and followed his stepfather into Doris' room. Just earlier today, it had seemed like she might turn the corner, looking to be in better shape than the day before.

It was only now that Praxis realized it was a temporary gasp of fate. Doris' condition had worsened over the day. A damp cloth now rested over her forehead. Her eyes were closed and her face was full of anguish.

"She can barely open her eyes," Damian whispered quietly. "Otherwise, she's burning up. She won't last much longer at this pace."

"Isn't there anything we can do?" asked Praxis. "Surely there's someone in the city that can help her. Some kind of doctor."

Damian gave him an indignant look. "I have my own personal doctor attending her. She's getting the best care we can afford. Sometimes, there is little we can do to stave off death, Praxis. It's a fight we can only delay but never win."

Hearing that fatal word caused a tear to descend from Praxis' cheek. He looked over at his mother, only to find her surrounded by people. The doctor was there, as were two of his attendants. With them were also Ariston, Xanthos' younger brother as well as Astara, who gave Praxis a concerned look as he approached them.

It wasn't a surprise that Xanthos, Eulalia, or Melitta were absent. None of them cared a fig for Doris.

"We can give you a few moments alone if you like," said Damian quietly. "I can call the doctor out. Not like he's doing much good at this point."

"I just don't understand," said Praxis, shaking his head. "She seemed fine this morning. I thought she was crazy yesterday when she said she was dying. How could this have happened so quickly?"

Damian let out a deep breath. "Only the gods know the answer to that question, Praxis."

To Praxis, it seemed like the gods were punishing him. First they took offense to his relationship with Astara, stripping him of her tenderness as casually as he would strip an enemy of his sword. Then they decided to make him a helpless spectator in the war between Corinth and Sparta.

And now his mother was going to be taken from him.

Surely if anyone had drawn the ire of the gods, it was Praxis.

With weary feet and trembling hands, Praxis approached the bedside of his mother. Unbeknownst to him, Damian gave a silent signal to everyone else in the room, having them vacant to allow some privacy between mother and son. Ariston was the only one that acknowledged his departure, putting his hand on Praxis' shoulder as he left.

Finally, it was just the two of them once more. Praxis studied the weathered and tired face of his mother, searching for answers. He found none that made him happy, only those that signaled the loss that was about to come.

Doris' hand reached out, searching for him weakly. He grabbed it and held it tightly.

"Praxis?" she whispered.

"I'm here, Mother. It's just us now."

A long sigh erupted from her body. "I'm so cold, Praxis."

"How can that be?" asked Praxis, looking at the sweat pouring down her neck. "You're burning up, Mother. How can you be cold?"

"My body is shutting down," she said weakly. "It doesn't know what to do right now, only that it's no longer in control. I'm no longer in control."

"Is there anything I can do? Anything at all to ease your pain?"

Doris nodded her head slowly. "Remember what we discussed yesterday? Remember the past?"

That could only mean one thing--his father. Of all the things they'd discussed, his father was the one that signified the past.

"Of course," he replied. "I've thought of little else since then. Well, that, and you."

A pained smile appeared on her lips. "He's still alive, Praxis. I want you to find him. Don't stay in Argos. There's nothing for you here, my son."

That statement was like a dagger to the heart. Argos was his home. If he didn't have his own city, what did he have?

"What you're asking of me is incredibly difficult," said Praxis. "I still don't even know if I want to see my father after the way he abandoned us. Not to mention, leaving Argos? I don't want to be a vagabond, Mother."

Doris pursed her lips. "I know you don't, my son. But leaving the city is the only way. You know that your enemies will see you as vulnerable once I'm gone. You know of whom I speak, right?"

Praxis nodded silently. It wasn't hard to figure out that she was talking about Xanthos, and Damian to a lesser extent.

"I can't protect you in death," she whispered quietly. "The only way I can is by getting you out of the city. They'll move against you before my body is even cold. I know this. I can feel it."

Those words sent a chill down Praxis' spine. "Are you sure of this?"

"As sure as a mother can be. And I know that there's animosity for your father over what he did. But you have so many questions, Praxis. So many of them unanswered. If you ever want to truly know about who you are and where you're from, he can answer those questions for you. It probably won't be a joyous reunion, but the least I can do for you before I depart this world is give you the key to seek your own answers."

"What if they're answers that I don't want to know?" whispered Praxis. "What if I'm better off staying in the dark?"

Doris actually smiled at him. "That's for you to decide, my dear. What happens after that is up to you. But it cannot be here. Not in Argos. There's no future for you here."

Praxis swallowed the lump in his throat. "Then I guess I'll have to make my future elsewhere. If that will make you happy."

"Seeingyou happy will make me happy. Argos, in its current form, will only bring you sadness and death. You were meant for bigger things than that."

"Then I give you my promise," replied Praxis. "I will do as you ask. One day I will find my father. I will find Evander, wherever he might be."

The smile didn't leave her face. "I'd give the last of my strength to aid your mission, Praxis. I may not have much time, but my thoughts will always be with you. I love you, my son, and I always will, even after I'm gone. Even when the night seems darkest, I will always be with you."

Another tear fell down Praxis' cheek. "I love you too, Mother."

He stayed there for another hour as Doris drifted in and out of consciousness. Finally, once it seemed that she was deep within the trance of a sleep, he pulled back his chair and kept watch over her body, wanting to be near when the awful task came to premonition.

Damian's doctors soon reentered the room, taking their tests and reapplying more damp cloths. However, it was the face of a new visitor that actually gave Praxis comfort.

Lysandra nearly burst into the room, flying into Praxis' arms at once. "I heard a rumor at the marketplace about your mother. I didn't know it had gotten this bad!"

"Thank you for coming," whispered Praxis, hugging her close. He spent the next ten minutes updating her on everything that had happened.

"She's a strong woman," said Lysandra admirably, looking over at Doris. "You're lucky to have had her as your mother."

"Luck is not anywhere near the emotions that I'm feeling right now," replied Praxis. "Cursed is more accurate."

"You're not cursed," whispered Lysandra. "You had your mother for a long time. It's a lot longer than some people."

By that, Praxis figured she was talking about herself. He knew that Lysandra was tight-lipped about her parents' deaths and from little he'd pieced together, they'd died when she and Lysander were very young. It forced them into adulthood much sooner than they would have otherwise.

"The city will remember her for a long time," continued Lysandra. "Our feast this year was magnificent, and it was all due to her. We've been blessed to have her as our queen."

"As blessed as I've been to have her as my mother," added Praxis.

Lysandra smiled and bumped her shoulder against his. "You know I'm always here for you, right? No matter what you want to say or yell or scream, I'm here for you if you need someone to listen."

Praxis put on a stoic face. "I'll be okay. You don't need to worry about me."

Lysandra shook her head. "It's okay to be upset. It's okay to show weakness sometimes, Praxis. Everyone in this city knows you're strong and tough but you don't always need to keep that face up, especially not in times like these."

"What are you saying? That you want me to break down and cry right now?"

Lysandra rubbed his thigh. "No, but it's okay to be vulnerable. Especially with me."

"Why is that?" asked Praxis.

Her eyes locked on his for a moment. "Because we're the closest of friends, right? And friends can tell each other anything."

That almost made Praxis chuckle. "What we've done together is beyond what mere friends do."

"You're not wrong but we're friends first. All that other stuff--the intimacy--is just an added benefit. Besides, if we were just intimate with each other and nothing more, I wouldn't have raced so fast to be here by your side."

Praxis grabbed her hand and squeezed it gently, something that seemed to surprise her. "Thank you then. Thank you for being my friend today. And everyday."

She rewarded him with a beaming smile. "You're welcome."

They continued to sit there for what felt like hours. Praxis couldn't have asked for a better presence beside him than Lysandra. She knew how to be comforting without getting too caught up in the bad emotions of the day.

To his surprise, Praxis found himself starting to come around on her. For too long, he thought about Lysandra only in a sexual manner but not like a true lover. Sitting there with her that night, he was forced to admit that she'd managed to burrow a hole into his heart. It was a stunning admission, especially seeing as he was still raw from the Astara deal.

It wasn't as if he was trying to replace Astara either.

It was just that there was more to Lysandra beyond sex. As a person and as a friend, she was a very good fit for him. And now, some of the very same thoughts he'd once entertained about Astara were now being substituted with Lysandra.

Where did that come from?

He didn't get very long to think about it. It was just before midnight when the doctor turned away from his mother and looked at Praxis.

"I'm sorry, Praxis. She's gone now."

Chapter 37: Queen of the City

Nearly the entire city came out to mourn their deceased queen.

It was a completely different change in emotion for the city of Argos. All the festivity and good spirit created by the Feast of Hera seemed to be totally lost as they grieved for Queen Doris.

There weren't many in the city that didn't love her. She was the most respected leader they had, better liked than Queen Eulalia (who was viewed as standoffish and lacking warmth) as well as being more reputable than King Damian (who was still blamed for not procuring a better deal for the Spartan alliance).

As was befit her status, Doris' body was set up on a great pyre near the base of the Aspida Hill the day following her death. At sundown, the pyre would be lit and her body would be given to the gods.

Almost as soon as her body was placed on display, the mass of citizenry came out to pay their respects. It took about an hour to even get close to her body, so long were the lines of mourning Argives.

For most of the city, her death represented a setback. They would now be left with just Damian and Eulalia at the helm.

But for Praxis, it represented much more. It was the shattering of one of the bedrocks of his life. He'd always had his mother to look out for him and now she was gone. The loss was indescribable in his mind, as well as the feeling of being truly alone in the world.

Especially in a time like this. The whole city was waiting on news from Sparta, when it was expected that their army would leave the city any day now to punish Corinth. The road to Corinth led through Argos, and there were many that believed Argos would be punished as well.

The city was gripped with not only fear but hopelessness.

If war was truly coming, what could be done to stop it?

It was into this pool of despair that Praxis found himself, not in his room wallowing in his misery but in the side courtyard of the palace. His sword was clenched tightly between his fingers as he worked the post in front of him, taking out all of his frustration on the wooden structure.

It was times like these when fighting seemed the only way to provide clarity to his world. He could take out that anger and sadness without having to worry about the consequences.

And there was a lot of it to get out today.

He worked the post for nearly forty-five minutes before taking his first break. Sweat poured from his body, making him glisten in the sunlight. It was as he plopped down in the shade to drink a cup of water that a most surprising visitor made their quiet entry into the courtyard.

Frankly, it was the last person Praxis expected.

Astara made her way through the grass as her dark hair flowed freely behind her. For a brief moment, he thought she just might be taking a shortcut into the city but she shattered that illusion when she stopped to sit next to him.

Neither of them knew what words to say to each other. Tension was still thick in the air as Astara opened her mouth first.

"I'm so sorry," she said, her tone soft and forgiving. "I'm sorry about your mother."

"She hasn't been well for a long time," he replied. "I think the feast exacerbated her condition until it was just too much for her."

"Still, I can't imagine losing a parent. Not like that and not so suddenly. How are you feeling?"

Praxis let out a deep breath. "I don't know. Everyone dies sooner or later. I just never expected that she would go so quickly. I go between sorrow and anger frequently."

"Why would you be angry though?" she asked. "There's nothing you could have done. If it was her time, it was her time."

"Because it's like a defeat that I couldn't prevent," he admitted quietly. "It was a fight that I lost."

Astara turned to look at him. "Not every problem is an enemy just waiting to be defeated, Praxis. Some things are much more complicated than that."

"It's easier when they're not. If only every problem was a swordsman waiting for your attack. The world would be a lot easier."

"Maybe for you," she said before gesturing to the post. "How long have you been out here?" "Nearly an hour."

"That's it? That post looks like you've been hacking at it with an axe all morning."

"I had a lot of anger to get out."

Astara touched his arm. "I know that things haven't exactly gone your way lately. At least not the way you wanted them to go. I'm sorry for that. For what it's worth, you have my sympathy. It pains me to see you so upset."

"It shouldn't," said Praxis, raising his chin. "You belong to my stepbrother now. Why would it trouble you?"

A look of pain crossed her face. "Really? That's what you have to say to me? After everything that's happened between us."

"You made it clear that everything that happened between us is in the past, Astara. Your decision, not mine."

"So what does that mean? I can't talk to you at all? I can't express sympathy for your dead mother?"

Praxis sighed. "Talking to you just further rubs in the fact of what happened between us."

"I'd hoped that we could at least be friends if nothing else."

Praxis locked eyes with her. "I can't be friends with you, Astara. That's not possible for me. I'm always going to want more. If you constrain me with a friendship, you're just going to torture me slowly until there's nothing left. I'd rather have no contact over a surface-level friendship."

"What you're talking about can't happen," hissed Astara. "You know that!"

"I do, and so do you. So we're better off parting ways for good," said Praxis, pushing to his feet. "You belong to Xanthos. You're his wife now. There's no reason for us to interact, unless you ask me to refill your cup at the dinner table. Other than that, our relationship is over. It's finished."

"Praxis, wait!"

He scarcely heard the words. Praxis had grabbed his sword and shield and was now marching back inside, leaving Astara to protest in his wake. His anger caused him to miss some of his surroundings on the way inside, or else he wouldn't have missed one of the guards, one of Damian's men, watching their interaction with a note of curiosity.

As he reached his room, Praxis slammed the door and tossed his equipment on the table. Where did Astara get off doing what she did?

Even if she was just trying to express her sympathy, she should have known better. Anyone could have seen them in the palace and made a rash judgment, let alone the fact that their relationship was over.

If they couldn't be lovers, then they would be nothing at all.

Praxis laid back on his bed as his mind raced. His bed still smelled like Lysandra, who spent the night with him when it was too late to go home. At that moment, thoughts of both women came swimming into his head, contrasting with each other.

They were so very different and yet so very similar at the same time. Astara was the proper merchant's daughter, the beautiful girl from the right family and with a bright future. Though her marriage to Xanthos was unwanted at the moment, she would one day be queen of Argos--a fate that no one would turn down.

On the other hand, Lysandra had much more common roots. She was simpler in terms of what she felt and how she expressed it, mostly because she had no filter. To find out what Lysandra was thinking, one only had to ask her and she would give you the blunt truth. Her struggles just to live were something that Astara had never had to deal with.

And yet, both women were eerily similar in their own way. They were loving and tender. They cared, even when they didn't have to. At their core, they were just good women, and that was what made the loss of Astara so difficult to take.

And as much as he hated to admit it, he had love for each of them. A romantic kind of love that surprised him with Lysandra more than Astara. Astara's affections had hit him like a hammer. Lysandra's snuck up on him, binding him to her before he even knew what was happening.

And now he was forced into a situation where he could only have one of them. Surely one was better than none, right?

Then why was he so upset?

*****

"Is everything in place? Are we ready to go?"

"Of course we are. Spartans never fail after all. Everything has gone according to plan."

Xanthos let out a sigh of relief. He was never in any more danger than he was right now, on the cusp of launching his plan. At least Dorrusas had kept up with his promise.

"How many men do you have in the city now? Are there any more coming?"

"I have three groups of ten men," answered Dorrusas. "You asked for at least thirty, did you not?"

"Yes, at least thirty," replied Xanthos. "What if we need more?"

"Let's hope that your estimations are correct then. You're only getting thirty."

Xanthos let out a sigh. "Fine, but how soon will the Spartan army march north? Do we have a time frame?"

Dorrusas managed to look annoyed. "King Nikandros will march north when the omens are right, and not a day sooner. You have no idea how important it is that we have the favor of the gods before our army goes on campaign."

Dorrusas wasn't the only one annoyed by that answer. Xanthos resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Everyone knew the Spartans were a deeply pious people, not even so much as shitting without reading the omens first. And yet, every day their king dithered in leaving was another day when Xanthos' plan might be found out.