Let the Games Begin

    The young girl pants with exhaustion as she runs up the stairs into her father’s council chambers, ignoring the glares of the slaves as she stumbles around them. As she slams open the door she is met by her father's and brothers' surprised faces. "What is it Reyna?" her father asks, worried. She leans against the door, catching her breath, "Father, Kyniska has volunteered for the games." Reyna's father glances nervously toward her oldest brother then back to Reyna. "She what?" he whispers at her, hardly believing his ears. Reyna clarifies, "The chariot races, she signed up for the chariot races."

"Father, can it be revoked?" the eldest brother Agis questions. The king shakes his head soberly, "No, it is too late." He rubs his stubble with his hands, sighing at his reckless daughter's decisions. "She really could not wait another four years? She would have been ready by then! The horses would have been ready!" Reyna shrugs and darts out of the room to leave the men to discuss her sister's chances. Heading toward the stables, Reyna intends to do the only thing she can at this point: watch.

*

    "Chariton, look at me!" the young woman chides. "You need to be careful around the left bend with Aithon, he tends to spook with his bad eye. Are you even listening?" Striding around the two jumpy steeds and stepping into the chariot, the woman grabs Chariton's wrist, stealing his attention away from the leather wraps he was tying on. "Kyniska," he begins, "you worry too much. Everything will be fine. We have trained so well, and the horses are ready." His mischievous green eyes plead with her serious brown eyes to believe him. She sighs, hanging her head and whispers, "I know, but-" He pecks her forehead with a light kiss. "No, but. We will win and become the reigning king and queen of Sparta!" He raises his voice loud enough for others in the barn to hear, "All will love and fear us!"

"Hush!" Kyniska giggles, slapping him lightly on the arm. "My father would have you strung up for speaking against him!" Chariton grins crookedly at her, "I don't mind." Rolling her eyes, Kyniska steps down from the chariot and places her hand on the larger of the horse's back. "Run fast, Phlegon." she says aloud, then placing her cheek on his neck, she whispers softly to him. "Keep him safe." From somewhere near the door of the barn a loud voice yells out, "Riders, into the arena!" Immediately, everything is abuzz with activity as everyone tries to safely get their horses into the correct lineup. Holding up a hand in farewell, Kyniska follows her own chariot's progress with her eyes as far as she can, until she is one of the few left in the barn. Then she waits.

*

    Out in the arena, the horses stomp and chew on their bits nervously as the crowd roars. The hot sun ensures that everyone is sweating, including the animals. Chariton can just barely see the royal box where Kyniska's father resides, along with her brothers and sister, silently judging him. The first race of his career is the most important as it makes or breaks his reputation as a rider. The mass chaos slowly gains some order as the starting time nears and everyone prepares to begin. "I should have tightened Phlegon's girth." Chariton whispers to himself.

"Riders to your mark!"

"Maybe Aithon should not have had any hay last night."

"Three!"

"What if I lose and Kyniska's father hates me because of it?"

"Two!"

"Are we even ready for this?"

"One!"

"Am I even ready for this?"

"Begin!"

"Oh gods!"

    The horses all leap forward, trying to get out into the open. Their previously restrained muscles, bound into action. The riders all try and wrestle their steeds into a rhythm, to find a comfortable position. The first bend comes up quickly, and just as Kyniska predicted, Aithon spooks when a grey dapple looms up on them, knocking the horses' shoulders together. Chariton allows for his horses to settle back down before pushing them harder. They fight for third place, Phlegon rubbing up against a bay who nips at him. "C'mon!" Chariton yells at the horses, throwing his reins against their backs and causing them to speed up just enough to come on the inside of second place. Chariton's eyes are darting around, trying to find a weak spot or a hesitancy to allow them to pass. He spots one just around the second bend when one of the lead horses stumbles, veering towards the outside of the track.

"Faster, boys."

Although it is just a whisper, the steeds seem to understand Chariton's wish and with foam dripping out of their mouths, cut around the chariot to the open stretch ahead.

    "Princess Kyniska, how unfair that you cannot even watch your own horses race!" the mocking voice of a woman taunts from outside the cavern. "Yes, Eupraxia. It is rather unfair, but even my father cannot change ancient rules." Kyniska replies sourly, not even bothering to turn around from her mucking out the stall.

"Oh, what are you doing?! That is repulsive. A lady should be nowhere near such a filthy place as this barn. My father taught me better."

"Then perhaps you should go."

"And leave you all alone? I would never be so cruel, darling! Now come out here and let me see you."

    Kyniska places the rake against the cavern wall and steps out into the hall where she said goodbye to Chariton. Eupraxia has really outdone herself this time with a beautiful emerald gown, heavy gold earrings, and her dark brown hair curled to perfection, which is cascading down her back. Kyniska feels rather plain in her simple white toga with dirt smudges on the hem and her long blond hair braided loosely. Eupraxia clucks her tongue while evaluating Kyniska's appearance and glances back at her two female servants sharing a knowing smirk. "My Dear," she drawls, walking in circles around her prey, "if you win, do you plan to go out like that in front of all of Sparta?" Kyniska scowls at her, "Of course not, the victor ceremony will not even take place until tomorrow. What does it matter to you anyway?" Shrugging nonchalantly, Eupraxia turns and calls for her servants to follow her out. "I would be more careful of what the people think, Kyniska! Who knows, darling, they might not approve of their dear princess falling in love with dirt and common chariot riders, which are basically the same thing..." Kyniska's face flushes deep red, but she manages to hold her tongue and temper until the hall is empty. "That little witch!" she screams at the walls. "I could tear her apart!"

"Who? Me?" A soft voice calls back from the entrance again. Looking up and sighing with relief, Kyniska smiles, "Timaea, you are a gift from the gods!" The two girls embrace then, arms locked, begin strolling out into the courtyard. "Why are you not watching with Reyna?" Kyniska inquires. "To be honest, I did not think I would be able to watch this race. Far too much pressure for me, and besides I wanted to make sure you were not alone." Timaea smiles at her best friend, her blue eyes sparkling. They sit together on a bench, enjoying the hot sunshine after the dark barn. "You chose me over my brother? I am honored!" Kyniska teases. Before Timaea can respond to the jest, the whole air seems to shake with the roar of the crowds. Both girls’ faces pale with nerves. Swallowing carefully Kyniska whispers, "I can only imagine what that means."

*

    Chariton can almost taste the victory, but the race is not over yet. The last stretch seems endless and slowly another rider creeps up on his tail. Soon he is boxed in on both sides, just barely keeping the lead when the rider on his left suddenly lunges at him with a dagger outstretched. Darting out of the way, Chariton narrowly avoids being cut. By doing so, he accidentally leaves enough room for the other rider to jump on, which he quickly does. Without a driver the other chariot bumps along wildly, frightening all of the horses, which begin screaming and slowing down. Struggling to keep the horses on track, Chariton holds the reins with one hand and pushes against the would-be-assassin with the other. The man manages to cut Chariton twice on the arm and across the chest before he loses hold of the dagger. The horses continue to veer wildly, confused by Chariton's jerking of the reins. The whole arena is screaming wildly and stamping their feet, some in encouragement of the fight and others in indignation of the unfairness. Grasping at Chariton's throat, the man pulls him backwards, causing them both to stumble. Aiming a hard elbow jab to the stomach, Chariton dislodges the man from around him and with a final kick shoves him off the chariot. Not bothering to turn around to see the carnage, he resumes the chase which his horses somehow managed to lead alone. There are only two chariots just barely in front of him, and the final bend is coming up fast, very fast. Urged on by the extra adrenaline the fight provided, he whips the reins up one last time and sends a prayer up to every god that he can recall. Please, let me win.

*

    Pacing back and forth around the cobblestones, Kyniska listens anxiously to the crowd for any hint of what is going on. Timaea reclines on the bench, her posture comfortable, but her face betraying her tense state of mind. Suddenly a page rushes in, panting.

 "Princess Kyniska," He bows.

"Yes, get on with it!" she yells, impatiently throwing her hands up.
"Your chariot won." he states.

Both girls scream and hug, the relief making them giddy.

"But," the page interrupts their celebration, "Chariton, your rider, is wounded badly." Kyniska freezes, her large brown eyes going blank and begins running toward where the injured athletes are treated.

But, it's already too late.

*

    Time slows, people hurry, news spreads, blood rushes, tears flow, and life goes on.

At the victor ceremony the following day, all of Sparta easily screams her name, but she can barely manage to smile and wave. The high priest of the temple of Zeus carefully places a crown of laurel on her perfectly curled hair, the highest of honors. But, Kyniska struggles to feel honored. She struggles to feel anything at all. Her father comes and stands by her, addressing his loyal subjects and holding her hand up for another cheer. Kyniska smiles beautifully, the perfect princess. An older man towards the front of the crowd calls out to her, "Princess, what will you do next?" Kyniska pauses a moment then replies, "What else is there to do?" Raising her arms she call out louder, "I begin training for the next Olympic Games, but this time I ride."

    Then the shouting begins.

    I wrote this post based on the historical figure of Princess Kyniska who was the first woman recorded to ever win the Olympic games. Her father and brothers were all real people, as well as Timaea who later married Agis. It is also accurate that women were not allowed to watch the games if they were married, but frankly any woman attending was frowned upon. The names Chariton, Reyna, and Eupraxia are all common Spartan names according to that time.
I hope you enjoyed!

The Walls Came Tumbling

    The thunder roars, shaking the house and sending dust into the air. "Papa!" cries a small frightened voice from the mat in the corner. "Hush Ayalah," the child's father soothes, sitting at the edge of her mat, "there is naught to be afraid of. It is only thunder. Now go back to sleep." With her father's steady hand stroking her hair, Ayalah's frail body still quivers, though she knows what he says is true. A few moments pass, but still Ayalah cannot seem to settle down. Propping herself up on her elbow she whispers, "Papa, will you tell me the story of Jericho again?" Her father sighs, but she can see his white teeth gleaming in the darkness--it is his favorite story to tell. "Very well, my dear." He leans back against the rough clay wall and closes his eyes, remembering.

    "Lior!" beckons a woman's voice from within the house. "How have you been?" Lior looks up into his Aunt's pleasant face, smiling politely. "Very well, Aunt Rahab. And you?" She smiles sweetly and beckons him inside the door. "Now, young man, I am always the same here. How are your mother and father? It has been some time since I have seen them..." she drifts off, leaving an awkward silence. Lior knows that his parents have purposely been avoiding Rahab after she came clean about her line of work. He understands why they have shunned her, but always thought it a bit extreme as Aunt Rahab is such a kind woman. He places a calloused hand on her arm and smiles sadly at her as she places her smooth hand on top of his. "Mum and Dad are well, or as well as can be expected, I suppose, with the Israelites on our doorstep." He chuckles bitterly at the truth of it. Aunt Rahab's eyes tighten at the mention of this and Lior immediately regrets bringing it up. "I'm sure there will be negotiations though, no need to be overly worried!" he chips out brightly, perhaps too brightly. Patting his hand Aunt Rahab murmurs, "Right, I suppose so. But, Lior," she stares at his face with such intensity he squirms uncomfortably. "If anything happens, you come to me. The whole family. Please, remember this." Lior pulls away quickly, stumbling in his rush to leave. "Yes, of course. Good day, Aunt Rahab!" He leaves her standing at the door looking worriedly after him. "I pray to God that you do remember, Lior." she whispers to no one.

    Seven days later, Lior remembers, not a moment too late.
Chaos. That is the only word to describe what Lior feels. Pure chaos. From the people screaming to the entire ground shaking, the whole city is in an uproar. That morning the Israelites had once again begun their marching and blaring of the trumpets just as they had for the past week. No one inside the walls of Jericho had dreamt that the Israelites’ threats would be fulfilled. Just after the people had shouted, the rumbling had begun. The ground shook, throwing people and structures to the ground. And that was when Lior had remembered his Aunt's warning.    "Mum!" Lior bursts into the door to see his family huddling together in the corner, praying to every god they can recall. His mother turns her face to her son, the soot covering it making the tear tracks even more obvious. His voice conveys the urgency he feels, "We need to go. Now!"

    "My son..." Lior's mother soothes. "It's okay, we will end together." Her arm is held out beckoning him to come join them. "No!" Lior takes a step backwards, "We must go to Aunt Rahab's now! She has offered us shelter!" His mother rises and stumbles as the earth quakes yet again, "Lior," she says sternly,"there is no hope. Our gods are not strong enough to save us. And Aunt Rahab cannot help us, enough of this nonsense." Her strong hands grip his arm pulling him further into the room and death as Lior sees it. Lior glances at his father beseechingly and begs, "Please, Father, what can it hurt? We have no more time!" As if agreeing with his words the far wall collapses, pelting the family with dust and rocks. Slowly Lior's father nods, "Yes, we will go. Come children."

    "Abrahem." snaps his wife. "We will do no such thing. We are to die with honor, not in the house of a...a harlot." She spits out the word like it is a curse. Abrahem turns to her and says softly, "Your pride will kill us, woman." And with that Abrahem rises, handing Lior the youngest child and guiding the other two out the door with him. They make their way slowly, crawling across rubble and narrowly avoiding being crushed by rocks. Finally they approach the house which stands tall, unharmed. Just before Lior knocks on the door it is opened by Rahab who pulls him inside where ten other people sit huddled in circles. Lior vaguely recognizes them as distant relatives. "Lior, thank God! Come in, come in!" she ushers them inside and passes the baby off to another woman's waiting arms. "Where is Ronia?" Rahab's voice is laced with worry. Abrahem hangs his head. "She refused to come." Rahab quickly nods, understanding. "I will go after her." Lior's voice is steady, though he feels ready to crumble. Just then a final quake rocks the home and the crashing begins in earnest. It is almost worse to simply hear the destruction of a whole people than to be a part in it. Aunt Rahab places a hand on Lior's shoulder her eyes gleaming with tears. "It is too late, my dear. I'm terribly sorry." She begins weeping silently and Lior pulls her into an embrace, his own tears joining in her grief.
    Soon the tremors of the city cease, leaving utter ruin. The once great city of Jericho has fallen to the God of Israel, but many have survived the destruction. The moans and screams of injured humans and animals alike echo through the city, but they are not alone for long. The Israelites enter the city and leave no survivors, slaughtering man, woman, and child as commanded by their God. Only one family is left behind. Only one standing house in the heap of rubble that was Jericho.    After waiting in the house for hours upon hours, a knock sounds on the hollow door. Everyone holds their breath, expecting their fate to be the same as the neighbors. Steeling herself, Rahab crosses the room and opens the door calmly. "May I help you?" she asks as if all were normal and a friend were merely asking to borrow some oil. A quiet voice responds gently, "Rahab, we have spared you as we promised. Your household is under our protection and I can guarantee-"
    "Caleb! Thank God!" Rahab interjects swinging the door open, "Are they all...dead?" Caleb nods solemnly. "I have come to take you back to the camp, there is food, tents, and supplies for you all." He turns his head, directly addressing all in the house. "But, I warn you, do not take any money or jewels or valuables with you. Any who take from this city from now on will be cursed by the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob." Each person, frightened, nods quickly in agreement. Caleb suddenly smiles, "Excellent! Let's be on our way!" 
    The group follows Caleb as he carefully picks his way through the rubble. Lior can tell that Caleb is purposefully avoiding any bodies and steering away from the heart of the city where a large cloud of smoke billows, polluting the air. Trying not to look at the lifeless forms, Lior is struck with the thought that somewhere is his own mother's crumpled body. A wave of grief hits him once again, causing his body to rack with silent sobs as he walks. His youngest sister reaches up and takes his hand, squeezing it lightly as if to say that she understands. And together they walk through their past home of heartbreak and into a new future of peace.
    "No, Papa you cannot end the story there! What happens next?" squeals out the very much awake Ayalah. Patting the pillow at the end of the rough mat he says, "Perhaps another time Ayalah, you must rest now." Ayalah sighs dramatically and flops her head onto the pillow, clearly displeased with the unsatisfactory ending. Her father leans down and kisses her temple whispering, "You are the rest of the story, love."

A Fallen Angel

       The thick air is permeated with the pungent smell of sulfur, adding to the oppressive sense of disease and repulsion. The towering cliff sides seem to lean inward, their jagged edges tempting to break apart and crush without discretion. There is a creature crouched to the ground in the bottom of the pit, seeming unaware to his surroundings. His face is plastered with a knowing smirk, his pale blue eyes swallowing in every detail surrounding him, without really seeing them. His tarnished wings, which once were a perfect, crisp white made by a holy and perfect God, are bent and splattered with gold and crimson blood. The large cut on his forearm drips deep red blood which pools on the scorching stone below and sizzles, sending steam and a foul odor into the atmosphere. But this angel pays no mind to his dirtied clothing or bleeding wounds. He merely sits, consumed with his own thoughts.
       Soon his silence is interrupted by the terrified yell of an angel falling into the chasm to join him. Barely slowing his descent the angel crashes to the ground so hard that small stones tumble off the cliffs, pelting the creatures. The first angel rises and kneels on the stone, inspecting the prone figure's wounds. Realizing that the new angel is unconscious the first pours his own blood into the gaping mouth.  "My lord!" gasps out the revived angel, spitting out the vile blood. "My lord Lucifer, I could not leave you." Lucifer raises a hand to silence the angel and calmly remarks. "What color is my blood?" Confused the angel stutters. Lucifer continues, "Once it was gold. Now it is red, the color of fire, and hate." Lucifer has a look of annoyance upon his face. "My lord-"  "Marad, there is no changing what is done. Are there others?" Pushing himself up Marad shakily stands, testing his strength. "I believe many more will come shortly. I have never seen such a thing as this. The angels all fighting, Michael rallying against his own kind, and God's wrath..." he drifts off horrified by his own memories. Lucifer ignores him and examines his own wounds which are merely superficial. He is mainly worried by the prospect of more distraught angels joining him and his cause which was already doomed to fail. There really was no cause any longer. 
       The angels start coming mere minutes after Marad fell. The empty cavern soon becomes a writhing pit of screaming bodies all demanding to know what is going on and most commonly where Lucifer is. If they  but looked to the one body standing still, they need not have wondered. Lucifer stands in the corner silent, brooding. Timidly, Marad approaches him again. "My lord, I think it would be best to address them all. Perhaps ease their fears-" "And tell them what?" Lucifer snaps. "That they have just forfeited everything. That they are now cursed. That we have defied a perfect God and now will pay the price for our-" "This is your doing. I trusted you. And we will not relent."  Marad growls out. Lucifer covers his face with his hands then rises, a new creature. He smiles at Marad, his teeth glowing and says, "I was hoping you might say that." He walks into the swarm leaving Marad confused at the sudden transformation. "My fellow fallen angels." Lucifer begins, causing the mob to hush and seek out the owner of the bold voice. "We are now cursed." This causes a stir which is stilled once again by his raised hand. "But, I for one, intend to make the best of it. We will not sit in this hell and allow good to rule. No, we will wait. Bide our time until we may wreak the greatest havoc upon heaven." A roar erupts from the angels, shaking the very ground. A small angels towards the front calls out, "My lord, we have been banished from heaven until The Lord consents." The angels shudder around him, "How exactly do you plan to overthrow that? The first rebellion did not succeed from the inside!" Many nod in agreement. Lucifer glares at the angels and barks out, "What is your name angel?" Steadily the angel responds, "Charaph" "Well, Charaph you may be partially correct but, there is something you do not know." He pauses, gathering his thoughts, "God intends to create." A moment of silence passes as the realization settles in. Then begins the shouting. It takes Lucifer many different tries to settle them all down and finally listen to him. "Enough!" He roars. "Yes, soon He will create and we have not yet been forbidden from meddling with the creation. We will make this hell our home and make this new earth an entirely new hell. We will cause chaos and destruction. There will be no rest. We will become rulers and gods and idols!" Lucifer is shouting louder now and the angels with him. "All will worship us!" The cavern rocks as if  it too were filled with the blood-lust. All has changed in this day.
       Michael shakes his head with pity at what the Lord has shown him. "They must be destroyed," he mutters under his breath. The booming voice fills the throne room, rattling Michael's bones, "In time, My plan must first be carried out." Kneeling on the golden floor of the dazzling room filled with worshipers Michael responds, "May it be as you say, my God."
       And so begins our world as we know it.



Marad- English pronunciation of the Hebrew word for rebel
Charaph- English pronunciation of the Hebrew word for defy