Wine and Poison Chapter 7 - Witch of Mount Cithaeron

 

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Dionysus, who entered Mount Cithaeron with all the royal courtiers in tow, probably lost interest in the witch when he was halfway up. 

 

Although he was a man of great physical strength, he was only able to do so as a demigod, with no damage to his body. 

 

He did so primarily by land and sea, not by mountain passes.

 

Hera’s hatred was unrelenting. 

 

She tricked the foolish Semele into burning to death in Zeus’ thunderbolts, drove Ino, the foster mother who raised Dionysus, insane, and even hunted down the grown Dionysus and bestowed madness upon him.

 

The title of wanderer of the world was conferred upon him. 

 

Even now, when he was recognized as a god by Zeus and occupied one of the twelve thrones of Olympus, Hera still tormented him at times.

 

A curse that would have been unusual for a full-bodied man, except when Dionysus remained a demigod, but not for him.

 

Ariadne had probably inflicted it. 

 

Dionysus’s face turned cold as he remembered her beautiful face as she cried out for a divorce and asked him to raise one last glass of wine. 

 

It was Hera who had forced her to marry him, abandoned by her lover on the island of Naxos. 

 

She made him take as his wife a woman who had her heart set on someone else.

 

“No one will ever truly love you. You will never return to Olympus until you find someone who can love you fully, without being consumed by your madness.”

 

Sickening piece of filth, wretched woman.

 

Dionysus stopped walking. 

 

He was now a demigod, neither god nor man. 

 

He retained his ability to make wine, but his other powers were limited, and even his appearance was a shadow of his former self. 

 

His stamina to climb even a single towering mountain was cumbersome, and his irritation grew.

 

Better to stay in the palace of Thebes and languish until his time was up. 

 

Even if he could hear the daily sobbing of the descendants of Cadmus, whom he had driven to madness and killed. 

 

Their spirits, of course, would soon cross the Styx and do Hades’ bidding.

 

Dionysus looked up. Mount Cithaeron was harder than Mount Nysa, where he’d grown up. 

 

The human paths had long since been severed, and all that remained was an uncomfortable trail of beasts. 

 

As for the witch, he had no clue where she was stuck.

 

The herbalist who offered him herbs and the youngest prince of Thebes told him that he had wandered into the mountains and had fallen into the depths.

 

As if out of nowhere, Dionysus’ countenance became pensive, an unknown gleam in his cursed but still exalted eyes. 

 

He threw the staff of Thyrsus to the ground. 

 

He whispered in a sweet voice that mesmerized all mortals.

 

“Seek the witch of Mount Cithaeron, where she will be found amongst the fragrant grasses and deceptive flowers.”

 

The staff of Thyrsus, which resembled a grapevine, fell to the ground and instantly became a black snake.

 

 Dionysus walked slowly behind the snake, which began to slither in an ‘S’ shape.

 

A strange scent filled the air. Dionysus looked down at the ground. 

 

At first glance, it looked like any other weed in the mountains, but it was filled with rare herbs. 

 

Dionysus smirked as he scanned the herbs.

 

In the shadows of rocks and trees, in the depths of darkness, where it was hard to see, the grass grew lushly. 

 

These were the phantom herbs.

 

It’s a pretty nasty plant, causing hallucinations, dreams, and even delirium if you smell it constantly. 

 

The grasses, which were also used as a drug, grew like snares.

 

‘So, this is why Thebes soldiers wandered around the mountain.’

 

This would discredit what the youngest prince of Thebes and the herbalist had seen. 

 

Maybe it wasn’t a witch at all, but a herbalist who just happened to be in the area.

 

Dionysus kept walking. It wasn’t long before he crossed over the herb-covered ground and came upon a hut with a densely wooded backdrop.

 

Swoosh, swoosh—

 

He glanced down, and his brow furrowed slightly. Thyrsus was sprawled out on the grass, thrashing about. 

 

A narcotic plant that was lethal to humans was a kind of stimulant to snakes.

 

Hiss—

 

The snake, intoxicated by the herb, stuck out its tongue.

 

“Enjoy yourself in moderation.”

 

Thyrsus wiggled its rounded head up and down. A red, slender tongue slipped out of its snout and back in again.

 

Dionysus took a step toward the hut.

 

Hiss!

 

A sharp, piercing sound ripped through the air, and Dionysus pulled his head back. 

 

A wooden arrow whizzed past him.

 

Swish!

 

Thyrsus, startled, opened its mouth ferociously.

 

Dionysus pulled the arrow out of the ground. 

 

The arrowhead was only slightly stuck in the ground, so it pulled out easily with a little force. 

 

The attacker was not a skilled hunter. The wooden arrows were crude, as if the hunters had made them themselves, rather crude compared to those in the city.

 

What caught Dionysus’ attention more than anything else was the arrow’s tip. 

 

The sharp point was coated with a greenish substance. He swiped a finger across the liquid and put it on the tip of his tongue. 

 

It was a tiny amount, but it sent a tingle of pain up his spine.

 

“Interesting.”

 

He turned his head. The eyes watching him from the doorway disappeared.

 

Thwack!

 

The door to the hut slammed shut.

 

Hiss!

 

After stroking Thyrsus’s head a couple of times, still agitated and showing its fangs, Dionysus loosened his grip.

 

“I think it wants us to come in.”

 

He trotted over to the hut, skipped the knock, and threw the worn wooden door right open.

 

Whoosh!

 

As if in anticipation, arrows rained down. This time it was not a single shot, but a series.

 

Dionysus twisted gently to dodge the flying arrows. 

 

Compared to Ares, who loved to fight, or Athena, who insisted on using strategy for the sake of justice, he was a god who knew nothing of war, but not enough to lose a ‘battle’ to a mortal. 

 

Of course, it’s different when you’re a demigod like Hercules.  

 

In other words, unless you’re that powerful, you couldn’t threaten him. 

 

Without self-defense, he wouldn’t be able to wander the world.

 

Dionysus only came out of the doorway and entered the house after the rain of arrows had stopped. 

 

An arrow wouldn’t kill him, but arrows hurt, and poisoned arrows would hurt even more. Besides, he wasn’t exactly in one piece right now.

 

The interior of the hut was plain. Any hut in the mountains would have a similar layout. 

 

A living room facing a kitchenette for cooking, two rooms with no doors but separated from the living room. 

 

As far as I could see, the hut’s owner was nowhere to be seen. 

 

Perhaps it was lurking somewhere, waiting for an opportunity to strike.

 

Dionysus fixed his gaze on the doorless hut and turned away.

 

Despite being the target of an attack, Dionysus didn’t flinch, but instead looked around the house curiously, as if encouraging his adversary to explore the place.

 

The hut was old, but neat and tidy in its own way. 

 

In the fireplace, a large pot bubbled with whatever was simmering.

 

Could this be the pot that the herbalist had seen spilling human bones?

 

He took a step closer to see the contents.

 

“You won’t be able to avoid it at this distance.”

 

A chill ran down the back of his neck.

 

“Who are you?”

 

She whispered, pointing the pointed arrowhead at his throat, her hand on his back. 

 

The voice of an old woman. This is the golden-eyed hag, her voice was wary and wickedly determined.

 

Somewhere in the distance, Thyrsus whined softly, and if he gave the signal, he would bite the old woman’s Achilles tendon with his sharp poisonous fangs.

 

Dionysus closed his eyes. 

 

The old woman’s breath, nervous and a little ragged, emitted a vivid, intense heat. 

 

A shiver ran down his spine. 

 

His skin alone told the story. The strength of the old woman’s life force.

 

“I’m looking for the Witch of Mount Cithaeron.”

 

“…A witch?” ask the old woman.

 

“Ah, I apologize, Apothecary.”

 

As I corrected myself, the arrowhead drew closer to the nape of my neck. My skin tingled with the poison.

 

The corner of Dionysus’s mouth twitched with the intense excitement of a bodily imminent threat.

 

“I’m not an apothecary.”

 

“But you work with poisons, don’t you?”

 

“…”

 

“Then I’ve come to the right place.”

 

“You came looking for me?”

 

“Yes.”

 

Dionysus nodded sharply, then the arrowhead nearly pierced his skin.

 

“Be careful. If you get pierced by this arrow, you won’t even be able to scream.”

 

The old woman warned in a sharp voice. 

 

Dionysus sighed. Perhaps thinking he was frightened, the old woman remained silent.

 

“I think you have misunderstood,” he said.

 

“When you barge into someone’s home, you call it a misunderstanding?”

 

A sour sneer hit his ears.

 

“Don’t worry. I won’t kill you.”

 

The slightly hoarse, raspy voice was quite to his liking. 

 

The creaky atmosphere of the hut, the old woman’s abrasive, uncomfortable voice, and the poisoned arrowheads were all menacing. 

 

Dionysus’s hands and feet tingled.

 

‘What could I do?’ 

 

He thought as he stared straight ahead through squinty eyes. 

 

It would be amusing to watch it strangle itself and squirm… but the situation was too interesting to settle for a one-time amusement.

 

“If you kill me, you won’t be safe.”

 

“What?”

 

“Where do you think I came to know about the Witch of Mount Cithaeron?”

 

“…”

 

“Thebes is rife with witch stories right now.”

 

“…Then why did you come to this dangerous place?”

 

The old woman pointed the arrowhead closer. Close enough to pierce the skin, she whispered harshly.

 

“For what purpose.”

 

“I told you, I’m looking for a witch who dabbles with poisons.”

 

Dionysus’ eyes widened like a child’s before a successful prank, and the corners of his mouth twitched upward.