The journey back from Delphi began under the vast, indifferent sky, the sun already arcing towards the west, casting long, deceptive shadows across the rugged terrain. My father and I rode on mules, the steady clop of their hooves on the dusty path the only sound breaking the silence between us. My body, though no longer bearing the weight of walking, felt strangely heavy, imbued with an exhaustion that seeped into my very bones. But it was my mind that was truly burdened. The Pythia's words, "You… are the Oracle," hammered relentlessly, a maddening, insistent refrain that drowned out all other thoughts.
What did they mean? What did Apollo truly intend by such a pronouncement? Was I to become the next Oracle of Delphi, secluded in that eerie adyton, lost in a trance, speaking in riddles? Or perhaps a priest, like Sophos Ochros, dedicating my life to the temples and the gods? My stomach clenched. But I don't want to be... The thought stalled, caught in a profound silence. I want to be a… The words refused to form. A cold wave of panic washed over me. What did I want to be? My future, which had once seemed a straightforward path—learning the trade, inheriting my father's prosperous olive groves and oil production, perhaps marrying Theano—now felt utterly foreign, inaccessible. Would I be happy if that happened? The question hung in the air, unanswered, replaced by a growing emptiness.
God's voice, sharp and analytical even in its own bewilderment, cut through my thoughts. "Analysis of prophetic statement 'You… are the Oracle': Ambiguous. Multiple interpretations possible. Role definition unclear. Requires more data. Subject's emotional state indicates conflict with proposed future roles. Biological programming for self-preservation prioritizes personal contentment." Goddess's whisper was softer, tinged with a familiar sadness. "Oh, Himerios. To have your path chosen for you, without your will… It is a heavy burden for a young soul. What dreams have you nurtured in your heart, little one?" Their voices, though still bewildering, were a strange comfort in the swirling vortex of my own confusion.
My father, riding steadily beside me, had been observing me for a long time. His gaze, usually so knowing, held a new quality of quiet concern. He cleared his throat. "Boy," my father said, his voice gentle, pulling me from the labyrinth of my thoughts. "Are you still thinking about it?" His tone was understanding, not chiding. "I understand that it is hard for a young mind to not dwell on such perplexing matters at your age. But sometimes, when thoughts become too heavy, it is best to shift them. So, think about things that bring you happiness."
"Happiness…" I murmured, the word tasting unfamiliar on my tongue, almost forgotten in the tumult of the past few days. And then, as if by magic, images began to surface in my mind, gentle and warm: my mother, her kind eyes and ready smile; my father, strong and steadfast, guiding me with his quiet wisdom; my mischievous younger sister; my boisterous older brother, Tolmaios Erythros, always ready for a game or a challenge; and then, Theano, her bright eyes and infectious laughter, the warmth of her hand in mine. A profound sense of relief washed over me, a small island of peace in the storm. This was happiness. This was my happiness.
Goddess's voice was a soft sigh of contentment. "Yes, Himerios. This is what truly matters. The warmth of belonging, the embrace of love. These are the anchors for a spirit adrift."
But then, as quickly as the relief came, a new pang struck me. I remembered Philistos Chloros. My mind, so consumed by the Oracle and the voices, had somehow pushed him aside. All these days... I forgot about Philistos. A wave of shame and regret washed over me. I used to miss him so terribly, a sharp ache in my chest after he moved away. Now, I was forgetting even the simple, uncomplicated joy I used to feel when playing with him, when our only worries were how to best set our marble pieces for the next throw or how to avoid the older boys. If only I could play the game of Hektor Anepsios with him again.... I don't want to forget this feeling. The thought made my brow furrow, my lips press into a thin line, and the shadow returned to my face.
My father noticed immediately. His keen eyes, always observing, caught the shift in my expression. "Himerios," he said, his voice tinged with renewed concern. "Are you still at the Oracle? Still wrestling with the words of Apollo? Talk to me, son. What is it that's bothering you?"
"No, father…" I began, my voice hesitating, trailing off. It felt incredibly awkward. I had always been quiet, internal. My father and I spoke little of feelings, of the churning world inside my head. Our conversations were usually practical, about the farm, about chores, about the village. How could I suddenly lay bare the strangeness that resided within me, the very thing that had, until now, driven him to such fear? It felt like a betrayal of our unspoken custom, a leap into unfamiliar waters.
"Look at the scenery, Himerios," father said, sensing my discomfort and wisely changing tack. He gestured with a hand towards the rolling hills, bathed in the soft, fading light of late afternoon. "This looks beautiful, does it not? The olive trees like silver sentinels, the distant mountains fading into violet. Don't you think?"
I nodded, grateful for the reprieve. "Yes, father," I agreed, my voice a little stronger. We passed by a truly ancient, gnarled olive tree, its trunk massive and twisted by centuries of sun and wind. And nestled on one of its sturdy branches, a pair of snow-white doves cooed softly, their heads almost touching. I found them instantly beautiful, their tranquil presence a stark contrast to my inner turmoil. They reminded me of Theano and me, a quiet, peaceful image.
Goddess's voice, soft and appreciative, resonated with my feeling. "Oh, look, Himerios! Doves! So gentle, so devoted. They remind me of… of how truly simple happiness can be."
Then, a new thought, sharp and insistent, pierced the momentary calm. Should I tell father? The image of his fear, the way his face had twisted with anguish, flashed in my mind. He understood that. Perhaps now, after the Oracle's strange pronouncement, after the intense, shared experience at Delphi, he might finally be able to understand if I told him about the voices in my head. He wouldn't dismiss me as merely 'thinking too much' or being 'sick in the head' as others had.
I took a deep breath, trying to muster all my courage, the courage required to finally unburden myself of this deep secret that had been once struck stupid by my father, my mother, and others. My heart pounded against my ribs. "Father," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, but firm with resolve.
My father, with a feeling of slight surprise in his voice, turned his head. "What is it, son? Tell me." His tone was gentle, inviting.
This is it! I thought, my mind racing. And then the words tumbled out quickly, a torrent of suppressed truth. "I have always wanted to tell you about this. In fact, I told you about this more than a year ago, but you… you didn't understand then. I hear voices in my head…" And I didn't stop. I poured out everything, the constant chatter, God's analytical observations, Goddess's emotional responses, the way they influenced me, the outburst in the olive grove, the incident at the Apollo ceremony, how they had made me lie to Theano, everything that had happened because of them.
My father listened. He listened to every single word, his own face transforming slowly from gentle concern to a look of profound, dawning shock. His eyes widened, his mouth slightly agape, a distressed expression settling upon his features. I watched him, my heart in my throat, praying he wouldn't dismiss me again. And then, I saw it—a flicker of understanding in his eyes, a clear, horrifying comprehension of the impossible truth.
I did it! I did it! Father understands me! A wave of profound relief, pure and exhilarating, swept through me. The burden, the crushing weight of the secret, seemed to lift, leaving me light, almost giddy.
"Himerios…" my father began, his voice distressed, filled with an unreadable emotion.
Suddenly, I snapped out of something. A strange disconnect, like a breath held too long, then released. What just happened? I looked around, blinking, disoriented. And then I saw it: the familiar, gnarled olive tree beside the path, and nestled on one of its sturdy branches, a couple of white doves cooing softly, their heads almost touching. "Another couple of doves?" I thought, a flicker of confusion. Then, the realization dawned. It was the same couple of doves, on the same tree. The scene was identical to moments ago.
Goddess's voice, soft and appreciative, resonated once more. "Oh, look, Himerios! Doves! So gentle, so devoted. They remind me of… of how truly simple happiness can be."
Was I daydreaming until now? The horrifying thought struck me with the force of a blow. Does that mean…? My gaze snapped to my father.
"Father," I said, my voice shocked, hollow.
My father looked at me, his expression one of slight surprise, the very same mild surprise he had shown just moments before, when I had first said "Father." There was no distress, no understanding of my impossible confession on his face. He was perfectly normal. "What is it, son?" he asked, his tone the same as before, devoid of any knowledge of the secret I had just "shared."
"The voices…" I stammered, my face hot with embarrassment and a chilling sense of failure.
My father looked around, his brow furrowed with confusion. "What voices? Do you hear voices here? That's unusual, Himerios, very unusual." He scanned the quiet path, listening intently.
I was daydreaming! I did not say it. I didn't have the courage to say it to father… The crushing realization settled upon me, heavier than any physical weight. My bold confession, my father's understanding, my momentary relief—all of it had been a desperate figment of my weary mind. The secret was still mine, and I had failed to unburden myself.
"Himerios?" my father prompted, his voice growing a little impatient now.
"No, father…" I mumbled, my voice barely audible, shame coloring my cheeks. "I was imagining things… just thinking too much again."
My father sighed, a sound of gentle resignation. "Himerios, you're thinking again! You'll tie yourself in knots. Talk to me instead. How is it going with Theano? Still bringing her flowers from the grove?" He laughed, a warm, booming sound, clearly trying to cheer up the mood, to pull me back to the familiar, the mundane.
I suddenly felt intensely shy, a blush creeping up my neck. "It's going fine, father…" I mumbled, averting my gaze.
My father laughed again, a hearty, good-natured sound. "Come on, boy. Don't be shy! Want to listen to the stories of me and your mother when we were young? Before you children came along and turned our lives upside down?"
"S-Sure," I managed, a faint smile touching my lips despite my inner turmoil. As my father began to spin their stories, tales of youthful mischief, burgeoning love, and shared dreams, a new thought, softer but no less resolute, began to form in my mind. Maybe I should start by telling Theano about the voices… She had been there during the outburst. She saw me. Maybe she would understand. Maybe she would be brave enough to listen.
I listened to my father's voice, his comforting cadence, and imagined myself and Theano in his and mother's places, their young love mirrored in my own budding feelings. The day ended like that, the last rays of sun painting the sky in fiery hues as we rode on. And after a few more days, marked by the rhythmic sway of the mules and my father's steady presence, we finally reached home, the world of the Oracle and its impossible pronouncements momentarily receding into the shadows.