DESTINY

Destiny

By Jenica Amalita

Destiny smiled at him at birth. As he grew, the people around him smiled as well. Young and curious, he roamed the streets willfully, skirting around the rules and skipping lessons, but got away with it all. For he was the apple of the people’s eye, and he couldn’t do any wrong. As he grew, he grew with the confidence that he was loved, that he would always be loved, and with this assurance came arrogance.

A few days into manhood, he happened upon an Oracle, though he didn’t yet realize who she was. 

She stepped up to him, thin and dark, with long curling fingers resting upon her belongings. “Young man, carry my bags to my sister’s home,” she requested. Not wanting to, the man refused. “Young man, if you carry my bags, you will not meet danger today,” she warned. 

“And will you defeat me in a fight?” he laughed, and without a second thought, continued on. 

Regretfully on his behalf, it just so happened that the man was looking for an Oracle then and there, one to regale his fate, to remind him of his destiny. He had heard that one lived in these parts, telling people their fates as they passed, but no one knew her face. Some said she was far more beautiful than the moon, others said Cerberus’ presence was desirable to hers.

The man believed that his fate was destined to be like Herakles. And so, he continued on, though not a soul was in sight. As he searched, he happened upon the home of Deianira, a woman considered, by many in these parts, a witch. Deianira was as beautiful as Persephone—before the dark of the Underworld paled her skin to a transparent milkiness. When the man saw Deianira, he did what any other man would do in the face of beauty. He fell in love.

Deianira was waiting for him. A reader of minds, she asked him as he approached her, “And do you, a common lad, seek me the Oracle, raised in the shadows of Delphi?” The man stood amazed. He had found the Oracle. And love.

The seductress led him into her home and, reclining upon her sofa, she invited him to a meal, carefully laid out on a table near the window. Succulent lamb with mint, varieties of fruits, and a curious gravy he had never seen before all graced the countertop, fresh and waiting. 

“I’m tired, but surely such a healthy young man must have a voracious appetite,” she almost purred. “Why don’t you begin, and I’ll join you soon.” 

The man didn’t wait for her to complete her sentence. Already, he was putting into his mouth samples of the feast and his tongue was tingling with the heavenly taste dripping down his throat.

But, was it the richness of flavor that made his tongue sing so, or was it the working of a spell wrought long ago? Deianira was old, far more than a thousand years, and lived off the souls of those foolish youths who believed the world to be theirs. Arrogance is easy to spot a mile off, and when the lad appeared, Deianira smiled, for she knew Destiny was with her.

Once the man had taken his fill, he joined his love and asked her, “Can I know your name, fair maiden?”

“Only if you’ll give me a kiss, for I love you, young man, ever since you stole my eyes,” sly Deianira replied. “I do wish to make you mine.”

The man, his heart thrilled, stood before her and knelt, pressing his lips to hers. She pulled him in closer and forced his mouth open. A sudden pain shot through his heart, a lightning strike that caused him to pull away, but Deianira held on, and the man felt himself weaken. His eyes turned misty, and his heart stopped beating, and his hands stopped feeling, and he felt lighter, and smaller somehow, and he pressed closer into Deianira, and felt lighter still until he couldn’t feel at all.

Deianira opened her young black eyes and rose. She cleared her table and went out into her garden. Opening her mouth, she took out a seed, dropping it into a depression she had made in the mud and covering it up. She poured some water over it and smiled.

Destiny had won.