Music and herbal smoke filled the clearing, mixing into a swirling maelstrom that overpowered the senses. The pounding of drums and whistle of flutes cut through the night like the roaring bonfire the congregation danced around. Everyone in the village was in attendance, other than the village watch and the ones too young to have been inducted. All as one, they took a drink from their cups, swallowing all of it in one go. The vineyard’s rich red wine watered down and mixed with the essence of poppy in the traditional way. They all then filled their cups back up from the mixing bowl soon after the first, to fill their blood with more of the holy liquid.
As they drank, more and more of them started to dance, their inhibitions shedding as they slowly let their god’s blessing take them. Their visions spinning and blurring, the music slowly being drowned out by song and the voices in their heads. The boundaries keeping them from their urges broken down by the wine brewed from Calsyniacus’s gift of grape and vine. Hands touching others where they usually would not and the sounds of pleasure following in kind.
Amongst all of this, the animal sacrifice to him, Calsyniacus, was brought forth to his holy emissary and representation. But unlike in many of his cults around the republic, this was not to a statue or a carving. Instead, mingling in this exaltation was a man no older than 19 with light olive skin and brown curly hair. But from his hair grew a set of curled ram’s horns and his eyes were purple like a grape. A son of Calsyniacus, the god of wine and madness.
The sacrificial goat was laid in front of him as the priest bowed, the son slightly dazed from the poppy and wine as he watched with his bright eyes. The bronze knife in the priest’s hands raised high before it slashed the throat of the goat. The animal gargled on its own blood in its final moments as its life passed into the other realm. Then one by one, its limbs were cut off, blood soaking the ground as those bright eyes continued to watch.
All until the limbless body was lifted high with a cheer. The priest held it up high for all to see, before slowly taking it to the pyre and throwing the body in, flames quickly devouring it. Its essence sent to the gods.
The emissary felt a hand against his bare chest, looking over to see a smiling woman with brown eyes that looked deeply into his. His hand went to her chest in kind, as he closed in with her, their lips locking together as their hands explored each other. The two of them letting their instincts take over.
Dyonaigus Calsyniacus wiped the sleep from his eyes as he slowly rose. Morning light streamed through his bedroom’s small window as his purple eyes slowly adjusted.
The memories of last night started to slowly roll in, the images of the spring festival dancing in his mind. He blushed as he remembered letting the intoxication flood his mind before having sex with Petillia, something he could have never dreamed of doing but the wine and the smoke and the poppy…
He could see why people were so happy to worship his father in this way.
And it was far better to be actually involved with the celebrations rather than just be an object of worship like last year. Surrounded by his celebrating followers as he sat on a chair like a statue, separated from the festival.
While he could dissipate all toxins from his blood, it wasn’t instantaneous, his hangover still throbbing slightly in his head. So, as he tried to get up, he slammed his horns against the head of the bed. Hard.
Dyo’s figure was slim and androgynous in a perfect form of delicate, yet athletic beauty. Already an anomaly in the bulkier and more work-hardened bodies of the other villagers. The horns and eyes, however, were a far more obvious and unconsolable trait of his heritage.
He liked them for sure, there wasn’t anything wrong about them. But it led to most people he met bowing at him or suddenly switching their tone upon noticing them. Even as a child the other children were awed by them, asking if they could touch them and such before their parents clawed them away from him for the perceived slight. It was nice at first, once the parents understood he was okay with it, but it then became tiring. Not annoying, but there came a point where he just wanted people to be able to ignore them… And sometimes when he wished they wouldn’t get in the way.
He groaned, stroking his thumping head as the pain slowly faded along with the last parts of his hangover. But there wasn’t much time for all this. Especially when he was probably one of the few people in the village who wasn’t strewn across the countryside or having a dreadful hangover. Possibly both at the same time.
Quickly throwing on a shirt, a plain green button-up woollen doublet and brown hose, he rushed downstairs.
There wasn’t anyone in the living area, only the embers of a small fire. It was… Odd. His mother should still be here, considering the time of day it was, but there could have been some urgent business to attend to. Though, she did have enough time to leave a bit of bread and goat’s cheese on the table for him.
A small smile spread across his face as the slight feeling of dread that had been coming in as he looked across the room dissipated. She could have just gone out to take care of some of the village’s children perhaps. They’d been left in the care of the elders while everyone else had gone out and it might have gotten a bit much for them.
He quickly downed the small meal and put the wooden dish aside before exiting out onto the street.
The village was certainly better off than most with well-kept dirt streets and stout stone buildings, a few of them with two floors like his. Despite how bare the buildings were, they were still beautiful as the clear blue sky rolled overhead.
As he looked down the main street, trying to find someone he spotted an old grey-haired man with a long beard. His heart settling once again as his eyes met with Faustus’s.
“It must have been quite the night for you all,” the old man chuckled, “I think half of the village can’t move a muscle thanks to your father’s blessings. I dare say that your emerging wine-making abilities have helped make that batch particularly potent.”
Dyonaigus’s smile widened, “I hope I haven’t overshadowed you and your experience then.”
“Oh, not at all. I dare say I could still score higher than you if we gave our respective wines to a senator. Though I won’t begrudge you once you surpass me.”
A thought passed through his mind, “Have you seen my mother? She wasn’t in the house when I left, and she wasn’t in the festival either.”
“Ahh, Salonia…” Faustus mumbled, stroking his beard, “No… I’m not sure. Anyway, come with me on my walk young man, it’ll clear the senses and we might find her along the way. We might even find a little inspiration…”
He nodded following behind the man, “Alright… Say, where did you learn how to brew wine? I’ve just realised I’ve never asked you that.”
“That is probably because the answer isn’t all that interesting.” Faustus chuckled, “It’s just something I have picked up from my mother and father who used to oversee the brewing in the village before they grew old, and I started doing it. Nothing special in the grand scheme of things. Just generational knowledge.”
Dyonaigus sniffed, “And here I am with magical powers to do most of it for me…”
“Which is an excellent addition to our community. You may feel like it’s a shortcut, but I’d say it’s just skipping over the boring parts. What some people would give to be able to make a fine vintage from blood memory would surprise you…”
“You're saying they’d try to kidnap me and do some sort of blood ritual?” he stammered, stepping back.
“Oh, not for that! Even drunkards and wine-obsessed senators have their limits. If anyone was to try and kidnap you it would be for your other powers. Though then they’d quickly find themselves at the mercy of your father I’d reckon though. Considering the god’s track record on kidnapped children who did nothing to deserve it.”
“I’m not quite sure if that makes me feel any better…” he muttered.
“Oh, it’s a detail I felt you probably would have figured out by this point. Has your mother been keeping you educated on mystical matters?”
“Of course, though…”
“What is it?”
“As a child, I used to want to meet my extended family. But after many years of it, I don’t think I want to any more.”
Faustus laughed, “A reasonable conclusion. I suppose you should be thankful you don’t have to spend time with them around festivals.”
“I am, I don’t think being around the gods with split personalities would end well for me…”
“Ehh, you’re fine lad! You could probably charm your way out of it like your father has on many an occasion. In fact…”
“What is it?”
“Your father wasn’t around for long, but just before he revealed himself, I remember a hooded man who come to me one day. He convinced me to give over a small tibble of my wine and after tasting it, gave me a few tips on how to balance the tannins. And well, the next year when I tried them our exports to Pygus went up! It turned out the method he gave me balanced them beautifully and I swear he must have been your father. No one else who would come here would have that sort of knowledge.”
“Did… Did he ask for a payment?”
“Oh no, he simply said that it was one free tip from an admirer of the god of wine to another, wishing me luck in my work. If you ever run into him then, could you tell him that I’m thankful for the advice then?”
Dyonaigus smiled, “Of course, I will. Though…”
“The gods are elusive, I know. But I trust you can get the message to him someday. Ah, here we are!”
The old man let out a wistful sight as the two of them exited out onto a cobbled platform overlooking the fields, orchards and vineyards below the hill that the village sat on. It was the perfect place to look over the peaceful countryside and the rolling hills of Estria. A large forest was situated to the southwest which a road ran through, leading to the western coastal road down to the regional capital and its docks.
It was a scene that Dyonaigus knew well, with every little landmark mapped in his head, even down to the distance smoke he knew to be a charcoal worker’s camp. Even if he had never been there…
A small sense of melancholy started to swell in his heart as he realised how small his actual explored world was when compared to what he had been told about. He knew about the coastal road but he'd never been on it. He knew about what was in the city and where the closest town was, the time it took to travel to them, all of that. But he had never been invited to walk that route.
The closest he got was this beautiful view.
“Don’t you really feel that fresh air now that you’re properly out in the open?” Faustus asked, his head lolling towards Dyonaigus as he laid back on the bench.
He sighed, stretching a little, “I do…”
“Let it roll over you as one of the simple pleasures of life. Oh- Ha!” He laughed, “I think I see one of your fellow party-going comrades trying to walk up here! Seems like he’s still dealing with his hangover the poor lad! Oh, I remember what that’s like, I absolutely hated it back then but now… Now it’s just funny.”
“You’re a cruel man Faustus,” he chided.
Faustus laughed again, his voice creaking slightly inside of his aged throat, “No I’m just old and beyond it all! You’ve got to still have fun when you’re my age.”
Dyonaigus chuckled, leaning back against a cottage, breathing in the morning air. His eyes wandered across the land. And just cresting over the horizon-
Are those… Flags? And a load of- Soldiers? What are they-
The small village bell started to ring pounding its chime out across the village and fields. All as a familiar scream echoed out from the street behind him.
Mother!
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