Chapter 15
Symboulio
Continuing at our same pace, Dimitris speaks with the excitement of a child, who only just found out they weren't alone in the world. “I think that you should know the Symboulio are ancient and have deep-seeded beliefs that those humans who pass into the mist are actually the ones unworthy of entering the Elysian Fields … too loathsome for heaven. The council has been around longer than Christianity or even Greek mythology. To understand that you exist, to see what you are capable of, spawns jealousy, contempt, and most of all fear in the hearts of the council. They will shoot first and ask questions later … please, promise me that you will develop as healthy a fear of them, as you have for your monsters.” I can feel genuine concern for my safety in his words, so I squeeze his hand to let him know I appreciate the message he is sending.
Attempting to steer the conversation in a different direction, I reply to his statement about liking the expression 'Ho Thanatos'. “My mentor, Cassandra, uses the term Ho Thanatos, 'death that cannot die' … she is very insightful, in her way.”
“The Cassandra … princess of Troy… Homer’s prophetess … who would be three thousand years old? Really? Cor, even with all I know, I can still be blown over by your world. Cassandra’s dilemma is a favorite story here; even to this day … no wonder the Symboulio conveniently forget to mention 'who' they know resides in the mist. They wouldn’t want the underlings to develop sympathy, or admiration, for your kind … that would absolutely devastate the ol’ Gaffers. I’ll be damned … Des’s suspicions were true. They couldn’t handle an uprising in their midst. We, seers, outnumber them … isn’t that how it always works, though: keep the masses ignorant, and then only feed them what you want … so you can mold their prejudice?” Dimitris’s exhilaration is flavored with a righteous bitterness that doesn’t sit well with me.
“You know, in some cases the Symboulio are right to withhold information. A little while back, I sensed an entity, unlike anything I’ve ever felt before. She has the power to reduce even the most rational person into the quivering mess of terrified prey. I’ve felt true evil before, but she made my heart race like a frightened rabbit on the verge of collapse. If she knew who was hunting her ... if she knew about the supposed power in your Symboulio, she would crush you all, in an instant." Or, she could simply see them as insignificant … thus ignoring their existence as if they were a group of mosquitoes, rather than glorified, corrupt, ethereal policemen.
I don't want to insult the importance of Dimitris's council, so I keep that bit to myself. "I’m not a fan of censorship, but there are times when some information is best kept secret for people’s own safety, and sanity. At the same time, I think you should know what you could possibly be up against; since you are on the frontlines, so to speak. I do see that there is an absurdity in what they are choosing to withhold … but then again, prejudice has never made any logical sense to me. Ultimately, I fear that ripping apart this organization without a clue as to what might pop up in its place … would only lead to more innocent lives lost. Yes Dimitris; believe in your revolution, strive to fight the good fight, but be prepared for the consequences of your actions.”
He nods solemnly, having seen enough death to easily comprehend the weight of my advice. After walking a bit farther in relative silence, he finally voices the question that has been bouncing around his head, “Who is this terrible creature you sensed? Does she have a name?”
“Cass refers to her as Beowulf’s monster, but I’ve heard another name in her mind, Echidna. I don’t think Cass believes in the Greek mythological ‘Mother of All Monsters’; but she seems to think that this creature is old enough to be the source of the mythology. It does make sense if you think about it; Echidna was the viper nymph responsible for unfathomable vindictiveness in Greek Mythology, and Beowulf’s monster was some sort of evil she-dragon seductress to the Vikings. Cass has seen her antics through visions, but only the visions the creature wants Cass to perceive. To trump the strength of Cassandra's visions … whatever this creature is, she is incredibly powerful.”
“What did Cassandra see?”
“She watched the creature hunt. Like all of us with these talents, I think the creature was a ‘special’ human once. I don’t want to even guess at what she can do, though no matter what her gifts are … she uses them to reap havoc. She feeds on hopelessness, fear, and hatred. Cass said that she can become solid like me; but in any shape needed to harvest terror … and because of that, she may be responsible for any number of the folklores about nightmares coming to life, from mythical monsters to vampires and werewolves. I guess in that sense she really is the Mother of All Monsters, the beginning of all the horror stories that have been ignored as fables and suspicions.” I shudder at the thought of something so old and influential.
Dimitris responds to my shiver by putting his arm around my shoulders and asking if I am cold. What a change in perspective, when we drop pretenses and really look at each other.
“Honestly, I’m fine.” I don’t shrug out from under his arm, though.
I don’t want to lose the contact that is intimate and innocent all in the same breath. Given my own modesty and shyness, I’ve become acutely aware of the different customs in different places. I can feel the lack of sexual tensions here, compared to America … here, a touch of greeting or thoughtfulness is simply considered friendly, with no innuendoes.
We take our time making our way down south, and the minutes pass by at a leisurely pace. He asks questions about Cassandra nonstop … after all, how often does one get to asks questions about a living three-thousand-year-old legend? His enthusiasm is contagious, and now that he understands the Ho Thanatos are no different than Mortos … some good, some bad, most indifferent, Dimitris is becoming genuinely excited. The idea of history’s starlets moving right next to him ignites the curiosity of a child, and I have to smile at the enchantment reflected in his eyes. I have a feeling that with everything this tender soul has been exposed to, seeing him this happy is a real rarity, and a treat to be savored.
“Ellie … is Cassandra as beautiful as the myths write?”
“Yes, I believe she is … if not more. As Ho Thanatos, we wear our spiritual energy like a cloak … Cass wears hers as if it were spun from the most intricate, golden silk. Her inner beauty and wisdom project the most breathtaking image of royalty … when we first met, I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. Her projection of her mortal body is exquisite: with dark red hair that seems to catch on fire when she stands in the sunlight, and her eyes are a brilliant green … but her spirit makes her a goddess. Looking at Cassandra, I can understand how myths like those of Aphrodite started.”
“Why can’t I see your energy? I can see you and your kind when you’re in the mist, but I see semitransparent forms that look like reflections on the surface of the water … nothing sparkling, no energy.” I can feel a change settling over his emotions. They still hold the reverence and contentment from his acceptance of the Ho Thanatos, but now I can feel a deep shadow of sorrow.
“Are you all right, Dimitris?”
“Yes … I just remembered where I’d seen the energy before. The lovely young one vanished, while profusely bleeding light. I don’t feel well. Do you mind if we find a safe place to sit for a little while?” His mind seems to take hold of the thought of someone’s spirit being destroyed … gone forever; and because the snare will not let go, he is hemorrhaging grief from the wound.
We are close enough to the water that I can hear the waves breaking, so I guide Dimitris toward the sound in search of a place to rest. We have to cross a highway that runs along the coast, and since we have been walking most of the night, there are very few cars driving past. Dimitris holds my hand for support … the pressure of his enlightenment starts tearing at my self-control. If I don’t find a place to detach myself, the full power of his distress is going to crush me.
I try to focus on the thoughts that are weaving their way through his despai
r. He is picking through all the, once thought, useless information he has collected by watching and listening to the Symboulio over the years. Following the tangent of emotions that run alongside his memories, the deaths he now sees as murders, I find a thread that runs back to his history classes taken at the council’s boarding school.
A brief, auditory history lesson shows me that Beowulf’s character is based on real life … no surprise there. As an unwilling participant in the making of a child with Echidna, Beowulf took his anger to the council. The Symboulio, much like more modern churches, saw his interest as an opportunity to spread their beliefs, and allowed his membership without any of the normal pomp and circumstance. Secretive and barbaric in the eyes of the council, Beowulf’s rise to king was only a small accomplishment. When he died during the battle with his monstrous son, he took all his clandestine information on the ethereal creatures with him. The Symboulio’s anger was immense, and they wrote off any further examinations of the viper woman’s involvement in Ho Thanatos affairs. That was a big mistake, a very big mistake.
Simply walking and folding my thoughts in Dimitris’s past, while trying to avoid his present state of mind; I hadn’t noticed that Dimitris had taken back the job of guide. He leads us to a large sail boat moored to one of the many docks in the bay. Modern and glossy-white, it looks as if it should be classified as a yacht, but my guide says it is too small to be considered a proper yacht … this is meant to be a home. I look at the name painted elegantly on the back … Despina.
“This is your boat? Despina? It’s named after your cousin, right?”
“Being the only surviving member of a very powerful family of seers has its benefits. I’ve taken a stance of ignorance over the years, concerning the Timoro and what they do to your kind. I have tried to call them in only when I saw something mischievous or evil … but I never took the time to know any of you; and I can’t help but to wonder how many innocents I’ve condemned. Whenever I become too curious for my own good, I come to Despina and try to leave the Council behind for a few days. Naming her after my cousin just seemed appropriate, considering this is where I want to be, when the reality of my choices start to become too obvious. Now, given how fond of you I’ve become … I couldn’t think of anywhere else I wanted to be. Please, Ellie, let me take you wherever you would like to go … please, give me a reason to float away from my life, just for a little bit.”
“Cassandra isn’t expecting me back for a couple days … I can’t think of a better way to spend that time. Thank you, Dimitris.”
I can tell as soon as we settle onto the boat, Dimitris is exhausted. He shows me around, and after my tour I suggest that he try and get some rest. After fighting the need for about an hour longer, he finally closes his eyes while sitting upright on his bed. Walking around, I peek at the pictures and trinkets he has sitting out in plain sight. After becoming bored, primarily because I don’t want to be too much of a snoop, and grudgingly deciding to not look in any of the cupboards or drawers; I go out up on deck. Athens is a city of light, and I have to remind myself that it doesn’t actually feel like a major metropolis … the love of ancestry is too strong here. I make myself comfortable on a chair and close my eyes so that I can focus on listening to the water licking at the sides of the boat. When I feel the warmth of the sun on my face, I realize that I must have dozed off for a few minutes.
Shaking off the drowsiness, I return to Dimitris. The rays of sunlight, pouring through the small, round windows, lit up the entire interior of the sleeping quarters. Walking into the cramped area that serves as a bedroom, I close all the shades so that Dimitris’s sleep won’t be interrupted. When he starts to toss and turn, grumbling and moaning, I can feel a desperation shooting out of his dreams. Crawling on to the bed, I let him rest his head in my lap. Responding to my company, he wraps his arms around my legs and hips while trying to nestle back into a deep sleep. My warmth and presence seem to help curb his nightmares, but he still feels distraught, even after his breathing becomes slower and deeper. I don’t want to touch his sleeping mind; the act seems too intimate after Christopher. I only want to touch Christopher’s mind. Actually, I only want to touch Christopher, period.
I lay my head back against the padded headboard and run my fingers through Dimitris’s hair, while I daydream about Christopher. His strong jaw flexing when he becomes nervous or anxious, the long lean muscles in his arms straining as he climbs the rocks on one of our hikes … oh, but mostly his eyes: full of light, and life, they shimmer similarly to the iridescent reflection of a rainbow on the water. I slip into dreams of his embrace, and his warmth drives me to want to taste his kiss just one more time. The desire to have him here with me is almost too much to bear, until I feel the pressure of his lips against mine.
Groggily I mutter, “Christopher? You’re here?”
Something is wrong; as reason slowly returns, I remember where I am, and more importantly that Christopher can’t possibly be with me. I open my eyes to find that I’ve fallen asleep, and slid down the headboard, finally coming to rest repositioned on Dimitris’s chest, with my arms around him. Blushing, I look up to see an amused and surprised smile on his face.
“Ellie, you are a very beautiful woman, and I would be a fool to ignore a kiss like that; but for some reason, I don’t think that was meant for me … who is Christopher?”
“Oh, Dimitris … bloody hell! I’m sorry!”
Feeling more humiliation than I thought was possible, I quickly retreat from the bed and proceed to trip over the door jam. Landing square on my bum, I feel like crying, until Dimitris’s laughter drags out a giggle of mortification. I don’t know where the laughter comes from. It must erupt from someplace where the embarrassment takes refuge, in order to hide from shame, but that doesn’t matter as the tears roll down my face and I gasp for air, laughing hysterically.
Dimitris leans over the edge of the bed and holds out his hand. I grasp his fingers and the intense feeling of understanding and consideration stops my giddiness. His eyes are soft; and even though his smirk is mischievous, he is offering the help of a friend. Intermingled with the friendship, I can feel a new appreciation for me as a human, not just an ethereal creature, but a woman. His eyes are opened up even further by the passing recognition that I might be someone with whom he could have a relationship. Inside that realization, there is a hint of disappointment at the fact that my heart obviously belongs to someone else.
He slides off the bed, and while still holding my hand, he lifts me off the floor. Then leading me into the kitchen area and seating me at the table, he turns to make us breakfast, without saying another word. After setting water on the stove to boil, Dimitris adds a splash of vinegar to the pot; and then, in a separate pan, he starts frying some pork in olive oil. Grabbing a bag from a cupboard, he pulls out two large rolls that look a bit like bagels. Slicing the bread in half, he browns them in the pan with the pork. Then pulling the pork and rolls out of the olive oil and setting them aside, he folds egg yolks into the cooled pan. As he adds other ingredients to the quickly-thickening, bright-yellow paste, I look at the sauce and recognize it as hollandaise. Swiftly, at the same time still stirring the hollandaise, he gently breaks eggs into the boiling water. On two plates he layers the rolls with the pork, poached eggs and hollandaise. Then unceremoniously set the plates on the table; given the gourmet meal now in front of me, I have to snicker at his presentation.
“I love eating … I don’t know how I survived without tasting and chewing for almost seventy years.”
Dimitris looks confused for a second and then starts laughing, “Um Ellie, I hate to break it to you, but most people wouldn’t survive seven days without eating more or less seventy years.” He shakes his head and continues to smile, telling me I had better eat up.
After finishing breakfast, I tell Dimitris where I am supposed to meet Cassandra. Again, I watch as a sense of wonder passes across his expression: not only is Cassandra real, but so are her children. All of the time
s he’s read Homer, the times he’s taken part in conversations about history existing in every corner of Greece, it has never really occurred to him that some of the rumors and lore might be fact, instead of legend. The reality that the twins are in Sparta, resting, unheard of, for so many years, simply adds another level of amazement to his perception of history.
“Ellie … would you mind if I came with you to meet Cassandra?” I can sense the eagerness, and nervousness, buried in his words.
“I don’t see why not … I think Cass might like meeting you. But I’ll warn you ahead of time, she is very suspicious of Mortos. In one of her many lectures, she actually referred to some sort of ‘dangerous humans’ … I’m pretty sure she was talking about the Symboulio. You may not want to tell her about your affiliation with the council.”
“I don’t understand … if she knows I’m a Seer, which she’ll have to if I can see and talk to her, then she’ll know I’m associated with her ‘dangerous humans’.” Now there is aggravation and impatience … I can understand being eager and nervous about meeting a piece of living history, but I am confused by what I am feeling from him now.
“Dimitris, I know of Seers that weren’t Symboulio…" Ann's presence flashes into my mind. "You can’t tell me that every person in Europe with ‘seeing’ abilities is forced to join them.”
“Yes, that is exactly what I’m telling you; join them or die. Talents that occur outside inherited abilities are very rare; and tracking families is how they always find the talented. I already explained that the abilities run in specific bloodlines, it may surface stronger for some people more than others, but it’s hereditary, and the Symboulio know of every family with these traits.”
“Do they keep track of all families with talents, or just the Seer lineage?” I am trying to put together the questions about my family's background … and finding myself more and more irritated that no one ever explained any of this to me before.