IPHIGENIA -- EXCERPT
over 4 years ago
– Wed, Sep 18, 2019 at 07:11:47 AM
IPHIGENIA
J.Kiakas
In a grove where a man should not be, a man crouches beneath the bush and vegetation, squinting through twigs and leaves. He is a hulking mass, a man whose any small movement would give him away to the deer he is hunting.
He does not think of the mysterious aura surrounding the creature, nor the sheer size and mass of the beast that should not be hunted. The man only thinks of his own hubris and of the eyes of his men hidden in the thick behind him.
The man narrows his gaze to a point, his fingers threatening to tremble holding the arrow tight and nocked in position. He swears to himself that the hunter, Orion, certainly had no hesitation to his name as he lets the arrow fly. The slip of the feathered tip, the swish of the wind to a final stick in the flesh of the beast who stares.
The deer stares into the man’s eyes. The creature falls and the aura fades, the sunlight beaming down dims, eclipsed by the foliage.
Despite the pit growing in his stomach, he thinks nothing of it, especially not after several men clap him on the back and congratulate his fantastic shot.
The men pack away their spoils and none make note of the wind’s stillness.
Iphigenia watches from a quiet place as her father instructs the men he intends to take into battle, a war on the city of Troy. He is a powerful force, built thick and strong as his name.
Agamemnon is a name given to the King of the mightiest fleet, no less.
Something is amiss, however; she notices the way he walks, tense. Iphigenia wonders if, maybe, this has to do with the weeks without wind they have endured. She can feel the tension in the air, the complaints of warriors, the sweat off her brow. The Greek sun is beaming and unforgiving. There is discord among the gods and an angered Artemis is stealing the wind away from ships ready to travel. Nobody has said any of this, but she knows it, she feels the goddess’ anger, hot as Apollo’s glare down upon them.
But Iphigenia is a princess and these are not her trials. She slips away to wander the halls in search of her sister.
Elektra is a fiery spirit, whose long flowing hair always gives her away around corners, ducking through hallways and packed rooms. It is always a task for Iphigenia to keep up with her as she sprints far ahead. Iphigenia is the eldest of her siblings and their swift steps can outrun her but they can never outsmart her. Iphigenia always knows where to find Elektra when she exhausts herself.
This time, Iphigenia shifts to a walk around the next corner, slowing only because the light sounds of Elektra’s feet against the marble have ceased. When Iphigenia turns the corner, she notices the crouched readied stance of her sister. Elektra listens, frowning.
“What is all this about—” Iphigenia begins to say before Elektra takes her hand and pulls her closer, making a motion to quiet her.
Iphigenia barely breathes at the sound of several voices. She can recognize Kings, the voices talk about the wind, the beaming sun. They talk about their soldiers and their waning patience. Agamemnon’s voice booms above the rest. They cannot leave without wind, the rowing efforts would never carry them entirely to Troy.
The seer Calchas’ voice is delicate, but the room silences for him when he explains that the goddess Artemis is furious with them. His words ring in the air before whispers can be heard, questioning. Iphigenia and Elektra exchange looks. They already know this, but it is not unlike men to ignore the frustrations of a woman until she is furious.
“What should be done then?” Agamemnon’s voice is quieter, rough with exasperation, but choked with patience.
“We must make a sacrifice in her honour,” Calchas continues, and the sigh in the room is one of relief. Few question what is to be sacrificed, and the seer explains that it is a delicate matter and wishes to speak to Agamemnon privately.
There is a low grumble of discontent from the rest of the royalty but they are quickly ushered away by Menelaus—Iphigenia’s uncle—towards the farthest hall of the room.
Iphigenia turns to leave, tugging at her sister.
“We are going to be late—” Iphigenia’s words are silent even when her mouth shapes them.
Elektra does not move, sitting hard as a rock, she motions for Iphigenia to keep quiet, as the seer’s voice breaks through the arguments of their father.
“Artemis will only yield should it be human. She insists upon your eldest daughter.”
Iphigenia’s heart weighs heavy and thick and drops to her stomach. She is not looking at her sister’s mortified expression, only listening now, her eyes tracing shocks in the marble. She listens as her father agrees to the terms, as he suggests a plan to avoid the suspicion of her mother, of herself. She listens to these sounds, the shapes of these words even after her sister has collected Iphigenia’s face into her hands. After she is guided from the hallway, from room to room the rest of the day, with the sound of the world silenced beneath the beating of her heart and the echo of her breath.
The princess lays in her room and stares up at the sky through the window, the moon shining brightly in a cloudless sky. She can just feel tears pooling from her eyes with each echo of the afternoon’s conversation still lingering in her ears.
She insists upon your eldest daughter.
Iphigenia?
They are talking about you...
“A sacrifice.” She breathes the word to herself, letting it settle over her and making it real.
Iphigenia stares up at the moon, almost willing her to feel shame.
Iphigenia is summoned the next morning.
