Brothers, Pt X

The oracle stared at the young man known as the Beautiful Killer in something akin to consternation. He was not at all what she would have imagined, based on the stories about him. Oh, he was beautiful, that much was certainly no exaggeration. He was just entering the first full bloom of manhood, with waves of shining gold hair and eyes that glimmered just a slightly darker shade- so unusual in a mortal. His youthful skin shone like smooth, flawless bronze over graceful limbs and lithe muscles. Everything about him seemed to shine, even his strangely shy smile.

And that little smile was at the heart of her discomfort.

Heroes, in the oracle’s experience, especially heroes that had earned the epithet “killer”, did not as a general rule look quite so… well, bashful. Look at that! The boy was practically rubbing his toe in the dirt! Where was the arrogance? The brashness? The ‘Here I am now aren’t you impressed!”-ness? And, for that matter, where were the scars?

The oracle, as a general rule, did not take instruction from the gods. She acted as an interpreter, no more, no less. But in this particular instance a goddess had given her a specific task, and although it had not bothered her in the beginning (who was she to question divine caprice?) now that she was faced with one of the major players she was beginning to have her doubts.

Beautiful Killer, indeed, she thought sourly to herself. Why has she chosen this one for her games? Something is amiss here…

None of these thoughts were revealed by her expression, however- and would not have been even had she not been wearing a veil to conceal the entirety of her face. One did not last long as mouthpiece of the gods without learning a thing or two about subtlety.

“Why have you come, oh Beautiful Killer?” Her voice rang out through the cave, echoing back to them like melodious thunder. Such lovely acoustics in this place.

“Um,” the boy said, looking pained. “Maybe- maybe you could not call me that? I mean, if you don’t mind? It’s not really my name.”

“But it is what you are, is it not?” She asked. He flushed a fetching shade of crimson and the oracle let her lip twitch in what would have been a laugh in a less controlled being.

“Well, I suppose that depends… I mean, certainly people seem to think I’m… not unattractive. A lot of… um, people… um. And yes, there was an incident or two wherein I may have killed someone… or more… than one… but it wasn’t like it was on purpose… and… fine,” he ended with a sigh. “Beautiful Killer works as well as anything else, I suppose.”

“I repeat- why have you come?”

“Oh! Right. Um, well, see, the thing is, there was this rather unfortunate… misunderstanding… which led to another one… and now, to keep my head attached to my neck- and I really do like it there, I do- I’m supposed to kill this monster, this Kymera, only it’s not so easy, right? And I don’t really want to die just yet, so I thought I might get some advice… from you…” he trailed off lamely, making helpless gestures with his beautiful hands. “Maybe?”

The oracle let her voice drop into what she privately called her Voice of Revelations; “You cannot hope to defeat this monster on your own. You have need of divine assistance.”

The boy all but wilted in relief. “Yes, yes I do! Can you tell me… how do I go about getting that? It seemed like it might require something a bit above and beyond the usual sacrifice, and I didn’t want to offend anyone by doing it wrong, or invoking the wrong one, or… you know. They’re so touchy, the greater gods.”

More than he knew. “You must go to a place I will tell you, and there you must create an altar to the grey-eyed goddess. Sleep beneath this altar, and she will come to you.”

“That’s… that’s it?” His beautiful brow furrowed. “You’d think it would take more…”

“Would you rather I gave you an arduous task?”

“No! No thank you! Plenty of those already, thank you.”

“You could always bathe in the blood of a white bull, if it would make you feel more deserving.”

“I- um, no. That’s alright. Build an altar, sleep under it, and wait for the goddess. I can do those things.”

The oracle gave him instructions on how to reach the place the warrior goddess had chosen, and as he left (somehow managing to trip over his own graceful-looking feet) (really, how had that young man managed to kill anything?) she couldn’t help but feel a small, painful squeeze in her heart. It was almost enough for her to consult the fumes to see what advice she should have given him- but she knew it would only make it harder on herself, knowing how it might have been had she the will to defy a goddess. Instead she sent up a quick prayer to her own patron god- he of warm sunlight and healing- that the Beautiful Killer might manage to stay out of as much trouble as possible. After all, he’d been so young and sweet- and, she must admit, so very, very lovely.