Day 332 - Tithonian Story

Tithonian Story

Matthew Ryan Fischer

“Drink the drink of me and I shall drink the drink of you and together we shall be free...” – from the poem “Eos and Tithonos” by Winston Alexander Whitmore, circa 1923.

“Tithonian Brotherhood does exist.  Rituals leave members all too mortal.” – Note from the research journal of renowned occultist Mortimer Thornewill.

The Tithonian Brotherhood was a sham, a bunch of fakes, rubes and yokels who had been duped by charismatic cult-like leaders who preyed upon the weak and the insecure. They made promises to the elderly and sick. Their rituals were nothing but pretense. Their followers were fools and their leaders were criminals. The Brotherhood knew nothing and could do nothing when it came to the promise of their beliefs.

Or so it was claimed. That, like many other things in this world, could be disproven for the right amount of money. Mortimer Thornewill had the right amount of money and then he had some more. Mortimer Thornewill had been born with a fortune and through skill, luck, lies and circumstance spent a good deal of his life adding to that wealth. He then spent much of his mid to late adult life traveling and trying to discover the forgotten secrets of the world. He wrote many books about myth, magic and the occult, of lost civilizations and ancient answers to modern day problems. The most interesting parts were usually left out. The most interesting parts could add to his already great fortunes.

Tithonus the Trojan had been granted eternal life by Zeus, the twist being that he would still age. Whereas most people today believed Tithonus to be a myth like all the rest, The Brotherhood knew better, or at least they believed they did. They had no real evidence of this, but they claimed that Tithonus was a real man who really existed and really did age nearly forever. They were founded as his disciples. Of course that was thousands of years ago and members had come and gone and there had been division and factions and civil wars within their society. There were orders and monks and disciples and they all had different beliefs and different goals. The one thing they all shared was the belief in the possibility of immortality. There might be no proof, but there was still plenty of belief.

The Brotherhood didn’t care for Thornewill, but they did appreciate his money. He helped them hide their existence and funded their search for any remaining evidence of Tithonus’ existence, and in return, they promised him the secret of immortality, should they ever find it.

The Brotherhood believed the secret to youth and to immortality lay in the water. Tithonus had a water nymph for a mother. Water was his element. Water would be his power. His life had been tragedy. Tithonus cried a million tears over the course of a million years. The Tithonian Tears Ritual was a transubstantiation ritual where followers dripped water into their eyes in an attempt to somehow absorb Tithonus’ unique ability. Not all sects performed the ritual. The Brotherhood didn’t care for it. They knew the tears were fake. They knew the water ritual would grant no such special powers. They knew this because they knew that there were real tears that had been collected from Tithonus himself. They knew this in the same way they knew Tithonus was real – because ancient artifacts and texts told them so. Supposedly no one had seen the real man for thousands of years. That didn’t stop them from believing.

Thornewill and his money were put to the task. The world would be scoured. The world would be discovered.

A city was unearthed beneath another city – a holy land underneath another holy land. It was a lengthy excavation. Most of it was done under the guise of research and proper archeological restraint. But then there was also the secret dig that focused on the opening of an ancient and private burial site. Thronewill had lived a long life by this point and was willing to spend a disproportionate amount of his fortune to ensure he had a chance to live a much longer one. The dig worked nonstop. There were only two outcomes that could stop the work – the discovery or Thornewill’s demise.

Thornewill was led to the chamber. The work was done. The leaders of the Brotherhood joined him, but he was to be the first. It had been his money, his efforts. The rewards would begin with him.

The Brotherhood minded the tomb. They minded the sarcophagus. They respected everything. Thornewill didn’t care. He wasn’t there for history, he wasn’t there to pay homage to an ancient belief or leader; he was there for his own life, his own reward, his own immortality.

Thornewill drank first. He drank the bottled tears. He didn’t sip them. He drank them.

And then he and the Brotherhood leaders waited.

They didn’t wait long.

As the effects took hold, Thornewill finally looked around the room and took everything in. He noticed the bones. There were lots of skeletal remains. Of children. Infants. It was strange. Why would an immortal be buried with infants? Why would he be buried at all? What sort of immortality was this?

Thornewill suddenly wished he had sipped instead of drank.            

The Brotherhood watched as Thornewill transformed into a baby. He was young alright. He had been granted a new and long life, just not the one or the way that he expected.

Tithonus might have had followers. He might have had disciples to protect him. To nurture him. To raise him again. The Brotherhood had no such vested interest in Thornewill. They did however have access now to his remaining fortunes and to the tears.

Winston stepped forward and picked up the bottle of tears. He and his fellow brothers left the chamber while their followers began sealing it back up; the infant Thornewill was left behind.