Chapter 3: City of the Gods

Sunday, 26 September 1954, Metéora, Greece

In the before-dawn blush of the next day, Doc sat on the ground with the family. They formed a loosely drawn circle around the well in the center of the courtyard. He had agreed to participate in the ritual without further thought after Andrew explained it. It was not unlike those Doc had participated in over the years in countless cultures, including at the stone circle in Northern England. Silently, they watched the old man in the center as he moved about the circle inscribing it with his gestures. Doc felt a subtle barrier at his back after the old man passed him—an intangible wall that defined the ritual space. It had been years since Doc felt the presence as powerfully as he did this morning. Perhaps he was remembering his own initiation. At last the old man stopped moving just to Doc’s left. He turned toward the outside of the circle and faced East. Though the words were in Greek, Doc had no difficulty translating them as they were spoken.

Within this sanctuary cast
Are all the powers of the ancients.
Let the air—
The fire—
The water—
Gaia herself join us
In this circle of power.

The family took up the chant from the old man. “Symmetochí ston kýklo tis exousías. Join in the circle of power.” The old man raised his hands to the East and continued. While the ritual casting of a circle was similar to the pagan rituals of England in which Doc had participated, the words were cloaked in classic references to the powers of Olympus and had the flavor of a Greek play. The old man was Choragus and the family was the Chorus.

“Open, unlidded eye of golden dawn, and cast upon us your rays of life.”

His timing was impeccable. The sun broke over the crest of Metéora glinting into his eyes and filling the courtyard with the sharp light of morning. He turned slowly to his right and stopped with his back to Doc. The family continued the almost sub-vocal chant “Join in the circle of power.” The old man raised his arms to the South.

“Flame within us, Hephaestus, volcano of eternal fire.”

The eldest daughter held a candle. Doc saw no sign of a match or lighter, but the candle flared to life with a crack that echoed in the courtyard. The chant picked up a little volume as the old man moved to the West and held up his hands.

“Rise Poseidon, tide of the sea; flood us in refreshing waves.”

Thea raised a pitcher and a cup and began to pour water. She kept pouring. Doc expected the cup to overflow, but the more she poured, the more water it seemed to hold. She kept pouring as the old man moved to stand in front of Doc and Apollo and raise his hands to the North.

“Demeter, mother of the seasons, dust of our bodies, accept us and fill us with the power of Earth.”

Apollo scooped dust from the ground in front of him and let it filter from one hand to the other. A light wind rose and the dust swirled in the palm of his hand. When he held it out, Doc could imagine that he saw the shape of a woman swirling in the dust.

The old man smiled and ran his fingers through Pol’s hair. “Now, let’s hope this works, eh?” He pointed to Doc’s walking stick and asked, “May I borrow this? It’s not necessary, but it looks so spectacular.” Doc hesitated. Only he and Wilton had used the staff for rituals in at least forty years. It made his hand twitch to present the staff to the old man.

Andrew rapped the staff on the ground setting a rhythm that the clan picked up with soft clapping. When the old man began to chant again, Doc could not understand any of the words but he was able to grasp a sense of it all. It was a summoning. The old man danced and gestured with the staff as he chanted. He swung it above his head and passed it beneath his feet. Doc had seen other summonings in other cultures, but nothing quite like this. It left him with only one concrete image: Laughter. Then he was aware of the laughter of the rest of the family, nearly covering the chant that had been taken up. “Hanistemi udor oste pino. Hanistemi udor oste pino.” Andrew stopped before the well with Doc’s staff held in front of him. Doc felt the chant growing and joined the rest of the group.

How it happened, or even if it happened, Doc could never tell. He saw—or thought he saw—water rise to the edge of the well and brim over. At its edge, the old man resumed dancing, laughing, swinging the stick and splashing water out of the overflowing well at and onto the members of the circle.

At the peak of the excitement, with the well a geyser, the old man shouted and everyone fell silent with a force that knocked them back on the ground. The silence hummed through Doc’s mind. For a moment, he could not even hear his own breathing. But the image of the laughing spirit of the well was firmly imprinted in his mind.

He gradually became aware of the sounds around him—his heart beating, his breathing, the rustle of leaves in the breeze, the distant chirp of a bird. Then came the intonations of the old man, still softly chanting above him. Doc rose on an elbow to look around. The sun was well up now. It was later in the morning than Doc liked to begin traveling. They would need to rest in the heat. The other celebrants were also rising and a loaf of bread was passed followed by a plate of cheeses and olives. Thea and Sophia were making the rounds with a pot of tea and cups. Doc’s stomach rumbled and he broke bread

When Andrew had completed a circle counter-clockwise, he stopped in front of Doc and helped him to his feet.

“Your staff,” the old man said, handing Doc the walking stick. Then he pulled Apollo up to his feet and embraced the boy. “It was very good. Go and travel safely.”

Without a further word, Doc and Apollo shouldered their packs and left. Doc paused at the gate for a quizzical look at the old man and the dry courtyard. Andrew smiled and waved.

Doc and Apollo were on the road and moving quickly on the outskirts of Metéora before they spoke to each other. Preparing himself, Doc thought. A memorized ritual must be performed. Doc wondered what his part in the ritual would be this time. Quiet observer, he hoped. Perhaps this journey—simply finding one’s way to the sacred place—was the entire ritual. There was data to support that among Native American tribes. Perhaps this would be a parallel—a spirit quest. When they stopped for lunch, the conversation was casual and Doc felt free to ask questions of the boy.

“Apollo, are you a believer in the ancient religion?” The boy laughed.

“I believe. But I believe like a child believes in Agios Vassilis—you say Santa Claus. When we grow up, we understand that Agios Vassilis was a saint who lived centuries ago and we commemorate his day the last night of the year by giving gifts. He does not actually visit. So, many of the stories Papou—Grandfather—tells are hard to understand. I don’t know if they are real or if they represent something. In school, we are told that the myths were teaching stories, but my teachers often don’t know what the stories teach. Papou says that when I make my journey, I will understand and will be able to decide for myself what to believe.”

“Is your father a believer?”

“No. My father does not believe. He is a good Christian. He taught me the stories of our ancient way.”

“He taught you to be a believer but is not one himself? I don’t understand.”

“Like Papou, he wants me to make my own decision. In kindness to me he has taught me the stories so that I would know the choices.”

“In my country, parents teach only what they want their children to believe,” Doc grumbled. “As do teachers.”

“Oh, he taught me that, too,” Apollo laughed. “I had to memorize half the Bible.” Doc joined the laughter.

“And if you choose wrong?”

“There is no wrong choice—only different ones. The important thing is to choose.”

The words seemed old for a boy so young and Doc reminded himself that though well-schooled, he was dealing with a child. The boy’s long black hair and simple clothes would make it impossible for a stranger to tell if he was a boy or a girl.

The way became more rugged as they began to climb gradually and the two lapsed again into silence. For a while, Doc had kept track of the general direction they were headed, but by noon the sky was so unnaturally overcast that he could no longer identify east from west by the sun.

As they traveled, the boy became more reticent about talking. He was carefully checking every landmark. There had been no identifiable trail for several hours. On a slope of rocks, indistinguishable one from another to Doc, Apollo selected one and walked straight toward it. Then he abruptly changed his course just slightly and walked on to another rock. The sound of running water gradually broke in on Doc’s senses. He looked up beyond Apollo and saw a broad swath of green as the slope evened off beside a mountain stream. The stream and broad greenway were an oasis in the midst of a rocky terrain. As he stepped onto the soft grass, Doc felt he was on very old ground, like walking through a rainforest where thick mulched leaves coat the ground for generations. It was springy and almost alive to the touch as they turned upstream. There was one tree, however, which dominated the greenway like a patriarch of nature. Here, Pol stopped and tossed his pack on the ground.

“We’ll camp here for the night.”

Heinrich tossed his pack down beside the boy and set up camp near the ancient tree. He worried about the threatening sky that grew ever darker, but detected no scent of rain in the air. The tarp made into a hasty lean-to would protect them from any mild rain.

Doc had an irresistible urge to remove his hiking boots, recalling older passages of Exodus concerning holy ground. Yet, here there was no burning bush, no voice of God—only an old gnarled tree and a small boy.

“You’ve never been to the City of the Gods, yet you know the way so well. You don’t have some secret map that someone sold you, do you?” Doc asked.

“It is an ancient holy place,” began Apollo. “There are no maps. All the members of my family have made this trip on or about their twelfth birthdays. My father, my aunts and uncle, my grandparents, and as far back as we can tell. When we marry, the new spouses are invited to make the trip with their mates. All receive the blessing of the holy place and all make their choice.”

“I’m honored to accompany you on such an important occasion,” Doc said. “Why are you willing to show me the way to the holy place? Isn’t it a secret?”

“I can take you to ta hagia hagion. I cannot show you the way. You will go with me, but even if you found your way back to this spot, you can only enter the city if invited. The dangers are many and stories of those who have tried and failed are also many. That is why we rest now. Tomorrow we will be shown the way to ta hagia hagion.”