Obsession

---

Obsession - book excerpt

Chapter 1

A long, long time ago…

He didn't care what they had told him any longer. This gem was going to be his masterpiece, and there was no one who could argue with that.

He had been studying the properties of the unicorn's horn for an age, and it's magic still captivated him. Its mineral was dense and complex, stronger than any other which he had identified. This made modifying it more complicated, if not impossible. Still, he had staked his reputation on discovery, and he would be damned if he allowed anything to get in his way.

Since killing a unicorn simply to recover its horn was still considered a condemnable offense, even if the purpose was for science, he had needed to conduct his research in secret, revealing his progress to very few colleagues. Even amongst those few, two of them had been horrified by his conduct, and he had been forced to eliminate them. Right now, all that the greater magi community of Atlantis knew was that he was on the verge of a great discovery. That was all they needed to know. Once he had accomplished his goals, his crimes would be justified, and he would be celebrated, rather than condemned.

There had been multiple crimes, of course. Advancement required the bending of the rules, after all. He had needed to come into possession of a large amount of centaur blood, preferably from a single source. If he had asked the centaur community for the blood, they doubtless would have wanted to know its purpose, and his crime would have been discovered. Also, there was no assurance that they would have supplied the blood or that the blood would have come from a single donation. He had needed to find the blood in an unconventional way, and he had done so in the easiest way that he could. No one would miss Jkelph, he had made sure of that.

Now, as he held the un-tempered unicorn horn above the large vat of centaur blood, with its heat slowly rising to a critical temperature, he was forced to consider the moral ramifications of what he was doing. With a shudder, he shrugged his morality off. If he were to begin considering things from an ethical perspective, he ought to have done so long ago.

“What you have done is wrong, Iago,” a female voice cautioned him, from the doorway to his laboratory.

Iago laid the unicorn horn beside the vat then spun to face the speaker. He had locked the doorway, he knew that he had. Still, locked doors had never stopped Xilfim before: there was no reason to think that they would now. She stood there, matronly with her long, silver, hair and wizened, blue eyes, bearing a concerned scowl on her weathered face. At one point, Iago had embraced the guidance and love which she supplied. That time had come and gone, though. This was now his time.

He took what remained of his affection for Xilfim and translated it into resentment. “What I am doing is for the good of Atlantis,” he retorted. “You are no longer my mentor, Xilfim. I don't expect you to understand what it is that I'm doing, but soon, you and all of Atlantis will.”

“You are not doing anything for the good of Atlantis, you are doing this only for your pride,” Xilfim informed Iago, advancing into the lab, her condemning scowl never flickering. “The Atlantian counsel would never have approved of your experiments, nor would the counsel of magi agreed to the testing necessary. You are an accomplished magus, Iago. You ought to be using your strengths elsewhere in a more beneficial arena. Come, step away from this ridiculous task, and return to the world of science. We will discuss what to do about your crimes at a later time.”

Turning back to the vat, Iago lifted the horn once more. Holding it horizontally across his palms, he felt it vibrate, pulsing within grasp. It was as though she wanted him to use her. Examining the vat, he saw that the heat had risen to an acceptable level. Before he could think himself out of it, he dropped the horn into the vat.

Xilfim gasped and rushed toward him, her portly figure moving faster than Iago had ever remembered seeing her move. She stood beside him, watching as the horn was swallowed by the blood, eyes filled with horror.

“You ought not to have done that,” she sighed. “The magical properties in those two sources are still largely untested, and there is no way of telling how they will interact.”

Xilfim's horror was juxtaposed by the satisfied look of Iago. “I suppose now, we'll make a new discovery,” he said, a smile creeping onto his lips.

The two magi stood together, watching the centaur blood boil. The refinement process had begun.

II

A long, long time ago, but not as long ago as before…

The time of Olympus was coming to an end. The world was expanding, and new gods were appearing, many of whom were not happy with the Olympians. War was approaching; indeed, it had already begun. There seemed to be powers, strong and foreign magics, working against them. Hecate had recognized the dark arts, of course, and she had attempted to identify their source. Strangely, however, their path had been hidden by a magic stronger than her own. That ought not to have surprised or offended her. She had known that, somewhere, there were likely some who had magics that were stronger than her own. She should not be bothered by that fact. After all, what was she? She was simply the goddess of magic. That didn't mean that she was automatically the best.

Try as she might, she could not decipher the trail. It was as though it was transmitted from another world. Hecate had fought the urge to become frustrated. She continued searching for something she could use to identify those who were antagonizing the Olympians.

She continued searching for a way to sway the war in the Olympians favor.

There had to be something that could be used to ensure the future of Mount Olympus.

As Hecate prepared for her venture, Horace watched her with concern.

“Mistress, I beg you to reconsider,” he spoke eventually, as Hecate struggled to pull leather armaments over her legs, fitting tightly, like a second skin. “When last you traveled to the Maeotian swamp, you were accompanied by the lady, Nemesis. Even so, you returned with that wretched man, the man who later endangered your life. The situation is too dangerous for you to be attempting alone; I would implore you to stay out of the Maeotian swamp, or at least to not venture in alone. Perhaps contact Nemesis before attempting to journey forth?”

Hecate sighed as she covered her torso in protective clothing. “Prospero mentioned the Gem of Illecebra,” she repeated to Horace once more, for perhaps the seventh time. “Nemesis dismissed his claim as nonsense. It would be illogical for me to think that she would accompany me.”

“It is illogical for you to be searching for the gem at all,” Horace retorted. “Since the gem may not even exist, there is no purpose to you endangering your life.”

“I have to do something!” Hecate shouted, feeling the angst and frustration that she had been stifling threatening to burst. She looked to her eunuch and saw pain in his gray eyes, shadowing the concern and love which he held for her. She never shouted at him, and she had never intended to hurt him. The look in his eyes was enough to mellow her a bit.

Stepping to him, she embraced Horace tightly, laying her head against his chest. “I love you, sweet Horace,” she whispered gently. “I need to do this, though. If there is even a chance that the gem is in the swamp, I need to retrieve it. Olympus is being threatened, and the Gem of Illecebra could sway the battle in our favor. If there is a chance for this, I must take it.”

She felt Horace's body convulsing as he attempted to contain his sobs. She held him tighter, feeling the soft fabrics of his robe against her still-naked breasts, with the occasional drop of salty water falling to her exposed shoulders. Her affection for Horace and his devotion to her was almost enough to make her reconsider her venture. Perhaps it was a fool's errand. Maybe she was being naive, thinking that a gem whose existence had never been proven could befound. She was chasing a rumor, the causal inference of a madman. The gem likely did not exist at all.

She had to know. If she did not at least search, she would never be able to let it go.

III

The swamp was darker, more stagnant, than she remembered. The oppression that weighed down on her pushed, demanding that she buckle, forcing her toward the sludge. The putrescence which she trudged through stuck to her legs, drawing her into its depth, refusing to let her go. Maybe this was because of the associations that she had with the area now, or perhaps it was because of what she was intending to do. Either way, with each cautious step Hecate took through the muck, the trepidation that she felt grew, as did the feeling of isolation. She ought not to have done this alone.

Thinking back, she could have asked Horace to come with her, and that would have satisfied both his angst and her need for companionship. She would not have wanted to risk his safety, though. At least, that was how she excused it to herself. In truth, she would not have wanted to hear his lamenting and protective language. Hecate knew that Horace loved her, and his protective nature was one way in which he translated that. It did become tedious now and then, though. Hecate loved Horace as well, but their relationship needed to become less codependent. There were times when she needed to be alone. She hated to hurt Horace. Each time she told him that she needed time to herself, the look of pain and abandonment that crossed his face was enough to tear her apart.

Thus, when the opportunity had come for her to get away from the castle for a bit by herselfwith her own thoughts, she had taken it. It probably would have been better if the opportunity had been in a less endangering atmosphere, but she had to take what was supplied.

This trip into the swamp needed to follow a more rigid protocol than the former excursion. Hecate was not protecting the swamp this time. She was exploring and potentially removing something from it. For that, she would need to gain permission from this area's ruler, the lord Achelous. It was important for her to follow the rules of the community, especially in respect to Achelous. Hecate had heard tales of the things that had happened to those whom he had perceived disrespect from.

Hecate approached the specific area carefully, registering each step with precise accuracy. She turned to the right, to the left, finding her place in the exact area between two dogwood trees: one, alive and green, the other, dead and decayed. The foliage around the trunk of the dead tree was green and vibrant, as if the tree had given its life to provide care for the growth around it, while the living tree seemed to have drained all of the nutrients out of the surrounding area, making sure that it was fulfilled. The prevailing sensation in the area was complete silence. No wind twisted through the branches, no birds sang in the air, and there were no insects buzzing, spreading their disease. The air practically rippled with black magic, and the smell of death reeked, representing a deeper meaning than simply the absence of life. Hecate smiled. This was where she needed to be.

Removing the elements from her pouch, Hecate began to sprinkle sage into the soil. “Illustrant iter,” she began to chant, as she paced in the clockwise circle around the area, “ad praetorium regem.”

Reaching into her pouch again, she removed a small vial filled with frankincense. She continued to circle as she opened the vial, splashed a small amount against her face and the skin of her chest, and emptied the rest into the soil.

“Illustrant iter ad praetorium regem,” she repeated, as the pungent smell of funeral ceremony clutched at her senses, threatening to make her wretch.

Almost immediately, the ground beneath her feet began to swirl. Hecate's first instinct was to jump away and avoid the strange motion. Instead, she reminded herself to continue pacing in a circular motion.

“Illustrant iter ad praetorium regem,” she repeated a third and final time, in as balanced a voice as she could manage, while struggling to keep her pace relaxed and unhurried.

The soil began to draw her down, sucking her into its depths. She struggled to take a breath before she was swallowed completely. Her attempt was too late. Pain and repulsion were the last sensations she felt, as her mouth was filled by moist earth.

The feeling of drowning evaporated almost as quickly as it had come on. Hecate sank to her knees, gasping for air, and was surprised to find marble flooring beneath her. She ought not to have been surprised, since she knew that it would happen. Still, this was the first time that she had entered Archelous' court, so the experience was new to her. It was not one that she wished to repeat at any point in the future.

Hecate had closed her eyes on impulse as she had been drawn into the ground. She had not reopened them since emerging on the other side. Once the retching had subsided, she straightened her back, opened her eyes, and rose to her feet. Looking around her, Hecate resisted the urge to gasp with amazement. She was standing before the throne of Archelous, within the bowels of the swamp. The ornate pillars which held the domed ceiling aloft were engraved with precious stones that Hecate did not recognize, each of them shining with a beautiful and distinct polish. Around the gems, ivy wound up the columns, reminding any who viewed them of exactly where they were. Behind Hecate stood a tall archway, leading into a long hallwayto somewhere that she could not determine. The flooring beneath her was marble, cold and unyielding, beautiful in its frigid nature.

Looking before her, Hecate saw Archelous, seated on his throne. Very little about him seemed recognizable from a biological perspective. His face, if one could call it as a face, was only defined by two, dark green orbs, both oozing a thick pus, which Hecate assumed functioned as eyes. Between the eyes, a long trunk swayed and pulsed, beating with a singular rhythm, as though it were absorbing oxygen through osmosis rather than breathing it in. Below his head, his body sat, simply a tangled mass of tentacles. He had taken the basic shape of a human, but Hecate felt that this was more out of convenience and comfort than necessity. He filled his throne to capacity, and maybe a bit beyond. He wore no clothing, nor was any necessitated. He was Archelous. He was king here, and there was no denying that.

On either side of him stood a potamide. They looked much different than they had when last Hecate had encountered them. The ravenous, crazed look was gone from their dark eyes and thin lips. What remained was an empty expression, completely docile, willingly subservient to Archelous. These were the potamoi that Hecate was familiar with. They carried out the wills of Archelous.

“A female approaches,” the one on Archelous' left spoke, her musical voice sounding automated and emotionless.

“The goddess Hecate, friend to the potamoi,” the potamide on the right elaborated, in a similar, chilling tone. “She seeks the audience of our king.”

“She would levy her past deeds to support her, attempting to gain our kings favor,” the left replied so evenly that the cynicism was difficult to detect. “This will not bode well for her.”

“Likewise, it will not bode poorly,” the right countered.

“Archelous will grant an audience to the goddess, Hecate,” the two potamoi spoke, in unison.

Hecate took a moment to compose herself and, while doing so, she examined the potamoi. They appeared beautiful and lavish as she had suspected they would, with their thin, female bodies clothed only in vines. Their flawless skin was a shade of light green, the shade of growth and health. Their hair was black, thick and full, hanging down their bodies like drapery.

“I seek an audience with Archelous,” Hecate heard herself say, before she was able to stop herself.

“This has been established,” the right reminded her.

“The purpose of her audience has not,” the left insisted.

Hecate breathed in deeply, realizing quickly that she was frightened and intimidated. “I have heard rumor,” she continued, attempting to state her argument succinctly, “of a certain gem's residency within the swamp. I seek Archelous' permission to search for it.”

“She seeks the Gem of Illecebra,” the left stated. It startled Hecate to hear the words said out loud so distinctly, even before she had identified the gem herself.

“Lord Archelous has no use for the gem,” the right continued the thought.

“The goddess has use for the gem,” the left countered.

Silence filled the hall then, and Hecate felt three sets of eyes boring into her where she stood. “I would not abuse the gem,” Hecate said after a moment of awkward silence. “The Olympians are at war right now, and the gem, if it is here, could balance the power into our favor. Lord Archelous may not be an Olympian, but it is to his benefit that the Olympians remain the dominant force. His kingdom would remain unchallenged. It is unlikely that he will receive a similar agreement from foreign pantheons.”

“The goddess uses logic to sway our thoughts,” the right argued.

“Diplomacy is not manipulation,” the left countered. “Her logic stands.”

“It would be to all of our benefit, should I be permitted to remove the gem, and supply its power to Zeus and the Olympians,” Hecate argued. She allowed herself to feel some hope for the first time since she had entered the swamp. She allowed herself to believe that this may work out after all.

She almost believed that the gem was actually in the swamp, as Prospero had suspected.

“The goddess could keep the gem for herself,” the left suggested.

“I wouldn't do that,” Hecate insisted quickly.

“The goddess should be silent,” the right replied.

“Archelous will deliberate,” the left concluded.

Hecate could deny it no longer, and her weak knees would have betrayed her even if she had. She was afraid. Before this moment, it had been easy to hide her fear, since there were things that she could distract herself with. Now, there was nothing to hide behind. If her request was approved, she would return to the swamp, in order to search for something that might not be there. Even if it was there, it was likely hidden and protected by forces that she would have to fight against in order to remove it. If her request was denied, Archelous would almost surely have her killed.

Each moment that Hecate considered the situation, the more convinced she became that this entire venture had been a huge mistake.

She stood for a short eternity before she saw Archelous raise his trunk. His mouth, formerly invisible beneath the trunk, opened, and Archelous bellowed with a strong, bone-chilling roar. Hecate shuddered, feeling the warmth of Archelous' breath forcing her back, smelling the stench of quagmire which it carried. She closed her eyes tightly, attempting not to tear up from the intensity of the smell. When she opened her eyes once more, the three sets of eyes were boring into her once more.

“The goddess has been a friend to the potamoi,” the right informed her.

“The goddess has been a friend to Lord Archelous,” the left continued.

“The request has been approved.”

“The goddess will require training.”

“Training has been approved.”

“Hail, Lord Archelous,” both potamoi chorused together.

Hecate dropped to one knee, bowing her head in supplication. She breathed a heavy sigh of relief, as all the tension that she had formerly felt melted from her, replaced by nervous excitement.

A hand landed on her shoulder, and she looked up, into the eyes of a third potamide. “Come,” she said, her voice carrying more warmth and personality than Hecate had heard previously (although that was likely only because of the company which she had been in, only moments before). “You will be trained, and you will be prepared.”

Hecate stood to her feet and followed the potamide, away from the throne where Archelous continued to watch her, down the hall that held an unknown destination. She felt safe and confident. It was an illusion, but it was one that she would capitalize on for the time being.

IV

Hecate was led down the hall, walking a few steps behind the potamide. Watching the way she walked was similar to watching water, flowing through a stream. The fluid motion which naturally slid her hips from side-to-side with each step made Hecate self-conscious about her own walk. The potamide was just walking, and nothing about her was threatening or pompous. Hecate realized that, and yet she was still intimidated by the effortless grace which this creature had.

The potamide slid to a specific chamber, where she stopped and motioned that Hecate should enter. Before doing so, Hecate looked into the chamber to examine its contents. The room held a small pool of water. The room appeared to be a bathing chamber.

“Enter the room,” the potamide instructed Hecate, “remove your clothing and submerge yourself in the waters. Your conditioning will commence momentarily.”

Hecate took a hesitant step through the door. She assured herself that she was not simply doing this because she had been instructed to, but rather, because she was choosing to. After all, it made logical sense to comply, since it was in line with her ultimate goal. Once in the chamber, Hecate peeled off the leathers which had protected her body and stepped into the pool. The feeling of cleansing water against her naked body was nothing short of euphoric. Closing her eyes, Hecate allowed herself to become submerged in the fluids. As she lay back, allowing the liquids to envelope her, she smelled fragrances and aromas that she didn't recognize. They were natural, or derived from a natural source, but the identity of that was alien to her.

Opening her eyes, Hecate saw the graceful potamide, walking around the pool. There were three stoves, each housing a fire, placed at key points around the pool, and the potamide seemed to be tending to each of them. With each time that she cared for one of them, a smoke of a different color erupted from the stove, each holding a unique scent. Hecate fought the urge to feel naked, even though that was her current state, and she reminded herself that this was what had been asked of her. The potamide's body was elegant and flawless, enough to make any woman feel a bit self-conscious, but Hecate was more concerned with the smoke.

“Excuse me?” Hecate called out to the potamide.

The potamide ignored her, continuing to tend to the stoves.

“Can you hear me?” Hecate asked, raising the volume of her voice slightly.

“The woman should not be speaking,” the potamide replied. “The woman ought to be relaxing. Her training is about to begin.”

“What are these smokes that I keep seeing?” Hecate continued to push for answers. “They hold aromas that I'm not familiar with.”

The potamide remained silent, refusing to even look at Hecate.