Page 165 of Hekate: The Witch
The sick and wounded could use
your help.’
Troy
It is a tale as old as Chaos herself. Jealousy. Resentment. Power. Bloodlust and bloodthirst. A quenching so terrible that it leaves behind the scent of nightmares and thunder in its wake. This war was different. A prophecy came to fruition, a visiting prince stole the wife of a Spartan king, said to be the most beautiful woman in the whole world. The reaction was swift, brutal and led to a thousand ships sailing upon Troy and a ten-year war. A decade is a long time to a mortal, but to us, it is over in the blink of an eye. This amount of death, however, demanded all Gods of Death to work hard. Whole families had been ripped apart. The jewel that was once the city of Troy lay in ruins. It was the end of that story that Thanatos had brought me to. I had noticed his hands shake with what he had seen at this war, even if he never spoke of it. A battlefield bathed in twilight smelled of salt and iron. Ground so crimson it was no longer the colour of dirt but rust-red with old blood. Even Troy’s great palace, once so grand it was said that Zeus was envious, now lay in smouldering ashes. I tried to ignore the feelings this stirred in me. An old rage, a long-simmering fury threatened to erupt when I saw the crying women and children being loaded onto Greek ships. I wanted to help them but Thanatos placed his hand on my wrist and looked into my eyes.Not yet.So instead, I gritted my teeth and went about his work with him. We walked from dying body to dying body and he offered release. All I could do was watch. Watch as he collected soul after soul. I was starting to wonder why he had brought me here when I saw her. The figure of a woman running towards the cliff’s edge. A cliff below which were sharp, brutal rocks and an even more merciless sea.
Queen of Ashes and Corpses
I watched her
until her legs gave way
and she collapsed on the cliff’s edge.
It was her coronet that gave her away,
her silver hair flowing behind her,
flowing indigo silken dress torn.
This was Hecuba, Queen of Troy.
Leaving Thanatos to his work,
I made my way to her form,
before the Greek soldiers saw her
and did their very worst.
She did not turn to look at me.
‘What good is it to be a queen
of ashes and corpses?’ she asked,
distraught. I did not respond.
Instead, I waited.
When she turned to me,
I saw the tears streaking her face.
‘They killed my husband,
all of my children.
Why did they let me live?’
I knew why they had let her live.
The value of a queen
was higher alive than dead.
In my silence the answer dawned on her.
