Chapter 8

Prince Blueblood was a lost island, floating lazily on an ocean of blackness. No harsh waves were there to disturb him, no storms to batter and chip away at him, no ambitious explorers to claim what was his. He was alone in his sanctuary, safe and sound, away from the changes and chances of his mortal life. He was unknowing, uncaring, in perfect, blissful darkness, wrapped in the folds of its velvety embrace.

And then he began to stir.

The first thing he was aware of was sound. He could hear whispering all around, soft murmurs rumbling in his ears as if they were right next to him. They weren’t saying anything in particular, he didn’t think; or rather, he couldn’t tell. Every time he focused on a particular sound, it faded away, as if they were butterflies and he a giggling colt again.

The second thing he became aware of was pain, a dull, throbbing ache that went from his head to his hooves, every slow beat of his heart making him aware of some new tender spot that twinged in protest. Thick fog filled his head, as if he’d been out on a bender all night.

He bit back a groan, not knowing where he was, nor in any fit state to guess with his eyes squeezed shut. His first assumption was that he’d accidentally taken some kind of heavy sedative and mixed it with alcohol, but he quickly put that thought aside. He would never willingly take a sedative at an orgy. A multitude of other things were fair game, though.

The pain, mercifully, sloughed away as soon as it came, giving him the curious sensation of something being drained from him. A minute later, everywhere but his head was free from pain, and he felt as if a great load had been lifted from his body. Hesitantly, he stretched his legs slightly, making sure they were still in working order, and to his utter relief, they were. Slowly, cautiously, he opened his eyes and forced himself to take stock of where he was.
The room looked like any other basement in the Old Quarter of Canterlot. A nearby torch cast its flickering light onto the smooth stone walls; he could make out a low, vaulted ceiling resting on simple pillars. Craning his neck to the right slightly, he was able to at least make out that the floor, though cold and stone as expected, it was at least dry, clean, and strewn with fresh straw.

Gingerly leaning his weight onto one leg, Blueblood rose slowly to his hooves, wobbling a little before he managed to stand on all fours easily. He felt a sudden fatigue hit him, as if he’d ran a marathon instead of just getting up, and his head was still aching and spinning. He squinted his eyes, his vision blurred and distorted around him. Everything had an odd purplish tint, and shadows flickered and moved as if they had a mind of their own. In the dim torchlight, he was able to make out a door, the only other opening in the room an iron grille through which narrow streams of light shined upon the floor.

It took a few minute of staring blankly at the door for him to realise exactly what sort of situation he was in. But when he did, it struck him like a hammer to the head. I’m stuck here. Alone, he thought, as a sudden terror welled up in him.
He knew he was just imagining things, but he felt like the walls were slowly closing in around him, the shadows encircling him like hungry timberwolves looking for their next meal. He swallowed, glancing around in hopes of finding an escape. But there was none. It was only him here, alone with his thoughts and his fears and his drug-addled imaginings. At least, until he heard the voices again.

Blueblood knew these were real, as he heard them getting closer and closer to the room, as if somepony was walking down a hallway outside. Wait, someponies- there was more than one voice. At least a dozen, from what he could tell. He struggled to move closer to the door, every step winding him a little more as his head throbbed in protest. Eventually, however, he got close enough to make out words, though it took him a little bit to understand them. Their mumbling turned out to be, in fact, quiet chanting.

“Chaire Helios Athanatos, tis stemma tis fotias! Chaire anaks, profrôn de bion thümêre opazde!

Chaire Selene Ischyros, hês apo aiglê gaian helissetai uranodeiktos kratos apathanatoi'o, polüs düpo kosmos orôren aiglês lampusês; tekmôr de brotois kai sêma tetüktai. Chaire, anassa, the'a leukôlene dia Selênê!”

The first thing that registered what that they were using Greek, the language of Mystery cults all across Equestria, including the Bacchants. The second was that he understood what they were saying, every word. And the third was that he was stuck here, drugged and abducted, and whoever was outside was almost certainly responsible for it. Terror gave way to furious anger as he grasped that the very ponies who had taken him from the Bacchanalia were most likely right on the other side of that door, freely singing hymns to some gods he’d never even heard of while he languished in a makeshift prison cell. He growled, the sound unusually loud in the small room, and pointed a hoof towards the door. “Váll' eis kórakas! Get in here you worms, so I can know who I have to buck into the next world!” he shouted, his voice echoing off the stone walls.

The chanting faltered, only to be replaced by the sound of loud, heavy hoofsteps getting closer to the door. Blueblood stood his ground, though, glaring daggers at the door. He didn’t care if he’d probably just alerted the whole group that he was awake, and pissed them off on top of that. All he wanted to do at that moment was see his captors before he gave them a black eye or two. It didn’t occur to him that he was outnumbered, and in no fit state to fight. All that mattered was that he’d been fucking drugged and abducted like the victim of some horror story torn from the headlines, and he would not let himself go meekly to whatever they had in store for him. “Come on, I haven’t got all night!”

The door began to slowly swing open. Blueblood began to channel magic into his horn to prepare a spell, an instinct he’d followed since foalhood. But something was wrong. The magic wouldn’t come. The familiar sensation of energy flowing into his horn wasn’t there. It wasn’t as if he was too distracted to direct it; it felt as if it that energy, that vital link between his horn and his will, was severed.
No, no, no, this can’t be happening! Not now, of all times!

Frustrated, Blueblood tried again, and again, only to find his attempts were fruitless. His breathing was starting to speed up, exerting all the effort he could as he tried to focus. But nothing happened. Not a faint glow, flicker, even a tiny spark. Scowling, he glanced up to see the blurred shapes of his captors walking into the room. “I wouldn’t try that, if I were you. You’ll only exhaust yourself.”

He glared at the shapes of ponies in front of him, counting the outlines of about six or seven. “You... you did this to me.” The rage that had been bubbling up beneath the surface suddenly rose to a rolling boil as he started forward, his legs moving almost of their own accord. “You fucking bastards! I’m going to kill you- ACK!”

Just as soon as he broke into a trot, his legs betrayed him, sending him straight down to the floor in a tangle of limbs. Pain exploded across the inside of his skull, another wave of fatigue hitting him like a punch to the gut. He was vaguely aware of the sound of hoofsteps getting closer, his eyes squeezed shut as he lay gasping on his stomach. “I’m afraid any sudden movements will hurt you right now. The merasha takes at least six hours to wear off.”

Blinking rapidly, Blueblood looked up to see where the voice had come from, his eyes flickering from the brightly polished horseshoes, to the legs hidden within the folds of a white robe, all the way up to the face staring down at him. All he was able to make out was dark indigo eyes, staring coldly down at him. The rest of the pony’s face was hidden behind a golden mask, tiny rubies and sapphires glittering on the forehead. “Merasha... what is...”

Suddenly, it clicked; he’d heard of it before, at least in passing. It was a drug designed specifically to tranquilise unicorns and keep them from casting spells for a certain period of time. But he’d only ever heard of it actually being used in myths and stories from millennia, the drug being illegal in Equestria ever since the end of the Lunar Rebellion. “Who are you?” he asked quietly, his shoulders slumping back as he stared up at the stallion. His anger was still bubbling, of course, even more than before. But some part of him knew there was no way he could fight back successfully in his sorry state, as much as it stung him down to the very core of pride. Damn this infernal drug. Damn this stupid cult. Damn this... this loathsome stallion, staring down at me like I’m some kind of corpse to be dissected to sate his curiosity.

The stallion laughed coldly, his expression unreadable under the mask. “Do you think I’m stupid enough to tell you that? All you need to know is that we are your captors, and you are not leaving this place until you swear not to reveal what happened here.”

Blueblood snorted, the defiance still in him rising back up to the surface. “So you abducted and drugged me so I could swear an oath not to tell anyone that you did it? How dreadfully convenient.”

A second later, he blinked in confusion. “Wait... what do you mean ‘what happened here?’ I just woke up, and so far the only thing I’ve noticed is I’m drugged, held hostage, and being watched by a bunch of Greek-speaking cultists- who aren’t very good at keeping yourselves quiet, mind you. I could hear your chanting from outside the door. I swear, you must be the most incompetent captor in charge of a so-called ‘secretive’ cult I’ve ever had the misfortune of encountering. And trust me, I’ve ran into a lot of secretive cults; comes with the Bacchant territory.” His brow furrowed for a moment as he thought back to exactly what they’d been chanting earlier. “Speaking of which, who’s ‘Helios’ and ‘Selene?’ Last I checked, Aunt Celestia and Luna rule the sun and moon, and they’re no divinities. Immortal, yes, but not divine.”

At the mention of the names of the two deities, the assumed leader of the cultists froze, then glanced back towards his fellows, who were shrinking back under the force of what he assumed was a glare. “You idiots! You didn’t soundproof the door first?” Blueblood couldn’t help but smirk a little to himself. His abductors were clearly not as smart as he had given them credit for at first. That was certainly encouraging.

“Err, High Flamen, sir, we didn’t think he could speak-”

“He’s a hierophant in the Bacchic cult, of course he could speak Greek!” his captor growled, his horn glowing a threatening red. “Next time we close this door to conduct the rites, soundproof it first! Or you’ll never be anything more than an acolyte in the cult, understand?”

“U-understood, High Flamen,” another squeaky, masked stallion stammered. The stallion hesitantly cast the spell on the door, the faint sound of chanting no longer audible.

If Blueblood was in any condition to make any sudden movements, he would facehoof at the sheer incompetence of his captors. This... this had to be some kind of ridiculous revenge scheme, right? It had to be. He mentally ran through his list of enemies and/or recently offended acquaintances. Can’t be Ruby Brooch, that’s Atia’s feud. Jet Set and Upper Crust? Maybe, but this isn’t their style. Too expensive for them, anyway, after that mining bubble burst. Golden Gavel... it’s probably Golden.

The group of ‘cultists’ was still quarrelling when Blueblood finally interrupted. “Erm, excuse me, but I’m still lying on the floor here. I know this is probably some kind of sick and elaborate joke, okay?” He paused for a moment, grinning a little as he realised he’d unmasked this charade for what it was. “Golden Gavel put you up to this, didn’t he? It’s all right, the game is up. You’ve had your scare, so we can all go home now.”

The room went silent, as the leader of the cultists turned back to him, slowly approaching with a menacing gait. “I can assure you, Prince Blueblood, this is no joke. And if it is a ‘game’ we play, it is not us who are going to lose.”

Blueblood shakily stood up again, looking the other stallion in the eye best he could. “Oh, come off it. There’s no need to pretend anymore. I mean, really, chanting hymns to gods that don’t even exist should’ve been my first clue-”

The prince’s world exploded into a red haze of pain once more as a hoof collided with his muzzle, sending him slamming into the nearest wall again. He groaned, gritting his teeth as he fought through the pain to rise to his hooves once more, while his captor shrieked, “Blasphemy! You wretched reprobate, how dare you blaspheme our Lord and Lady!”

Blueblood did his best to brush the dirt off his coat best he could, before turning to glare at his captors. “Okay, now I’m really angry. Seriously, you’ve been found out. This joke is over. I don’t care how much you were paid; this is a little too far, even for revenge. I’ll admit, you’re wonderfully convincing actors, but the curtain is down and the stage is empty. So, for the love of Bacchus, Gaia, Sapientia, Mercurius, Janus, Camina, and anyone else I’m missing, let me go home, or I’ll-”

“Or you’ll... what, exactly?” The leader muttered sardonically, not really expecting an answer. “Yell at us to ‘give up the charade?’ Insult our gods? Try half-heartedly to attack us, only to end up as a messy stain on the floor? Try to cast a spell again until you either pass out again, or finally realise you’re not going anywhere? I’m sorry to disappoint you, mighty heir of House Platinum, but you are quite helpless right now.”

Blueblood wanted to believe this was just an elaborate joke, he really did. But this... this didn’t look like it. This was revenge in its most cold-blooded form, he thought. These ponies weren’t going to just give up and leave him once he found them out. They were going to keep him here until he complied with their wishes; and there was nothing he could do about it. So, he decided to turn to the next most appropriate option; stalling for time.

“So, er... forgive my earlier, er, blasphemy,” he stated cautiously, noting the tense posture of his captor relaxing slightly. “I seriously was not aware that your gods existed. Who are they?”

The cultist leader just kept the same cold stare as he moved a little closer. “We will not tell you until you swear not to reveal-”

“Oh, confound your secrecy!” Blueblood snapped impatiently. “I already know you worship some sun god called ‘Helios’ and some moon goddess named ‘Selene.’ I want to know why. Why do you worship divinities for that when our Princesses have been doing the job just fine for the past two millennia?”

“Because they are usurpers.” The leader hissed, getting uncomfortably close to the prince’s face until he could feel spittle hitting his muzzle. “They are usurpers to took away from our race, our bloodlines the privilege to raise the sun and moon. The privilege granted us by divine writ. Us, the unicorn mages of the Order of the Golden Dawn, not the alicorn heretics who dare to call themselves the ‘rulers’ of the Sun and Moon. Us, of the ancient Houses that ruled the land until two alicorn fillies from outside our land managed to convince Equestria that we were not needed anymore.”

His eyes grew furious behind the mask, as if remembering some past slight that still wounded deep. This was personal, for him. “That we were... obsolete, relics of a past where one monarch ruled and the many houses reigned over their lands. We tried to show the ponies of Equestria otherwise, but we were outmatched; it took over five hundred of the finest mages of our order to raise the sun at dawn and lower the moon, celebrating the sacred rites of our religion to aid us. But it only took those two mere fillies who had barely grasped their own power to do the same.”

Blueblood raised an eyebrow at that. “And it didn’t occur to your ancestors that, maybe, your gods had blessed Celestia and Luna with those powers?”

That one earned him another blow, this time to his side. He doubled over, winded and gasping for breath, before his captor roughly grabbed him in his magic and shoved him against the wall. “Do not. Suggest. Such utter heresy. Again. Understand?” He whispered into the prince’s ear, the sound as unsettling as a knife scraping over stone. Blueblood nodded weakly, falling to the floor as the other stallion released him. “Now, I’d love to chat a little longer, but I’m afraid we’ve stalled long enough. Will you vow to never reveal the secrets of our faith, and of the events that have and will happen tonight? In exchange, we will initiate you into our ranks and let you go free.”

The prince pretended to contemplate the idea for a few minutes, his eyes closed. There was no chance in Tartarus he was actually going to go through with this. If this was a revenge plot by a scorned enemy, as he suspected, they were certainly not going to let him go anytime soon, regardless of whether he swore secrecy. After a moment, he opened his eyes, looking up with a placid smile. “Maybe. Your hymns are good, at least. Exquisite poetry, really- Orpheus and Homer couldn’t do better themselves. I know a few poems that are better, though. Want to hear them?”

The cultists looked very, very confused, muttering amongst each other before looking to their leader for help. “Poetry? Don’t try to change the subject, Prince Blueblood, will you or will you not-”

“A cultist once kidnapped a prince/ But he was a trifle bit dense/Pedicabo ego/vos et irrumabo/But the cultist did not even wince- Sons of Dis!”

Blueblood found himself slammed into the wall again, his legs dangling in the air as a ring of deep red magic encircled his throat, squeezing his windpipe threateningly. He choked and sputtered, little spots of light flashing across his field of vision. Just as he was on edge of blacking out, the grip around his throat relaxed, leaving him to fall to the hard floor again. This time, he knew he didn’t have the strength to get up, so he settled for propping his head up on his forehooves to stare up at his captors. His blazing eyes met those of the cultist leader, cold and dangerous. “You are very lucky we need you alive and intact,” the leader said quietly, his voice dripping with disdain. “Had anypony else defied us so, you would be dead by now. Or gelded.”

The prince visibly paled at that threat, scooting back against the wall as if he thought he could protect himself by getting away. Now gelding was one of the worst things they could possibly think of, as it was a punishment that hadn’t been used for millennia; and only then for rapists and traitors who were seen as too dangerous to set free, but not enough to execute. The thought struck terror into him, almost instinctively sinking to the ground in hopes of protecting himself. It wasn’t just the thought of losing something so intrinsic to his being that scared him; it was the sheer humiliation, the shame associated with being subjected to that kind of punishment. If they were threatening him with that... he knew they meant business.

He was so absorbed in his instinctive fear that he almost missed the last part of the leader’s sentence, “...however, seeing as we are forbidden from shedding blood within holy ground by our religion, you will not undergo that.” Blueblood visibly relaxed, his tensed shoulders dropping to their normal posture as he allowed himself a small smile of relief. “Do not smile yet, you disgrace of a princeling. There are many, many other methods of persuasion at our disposal that do not involve shedding blood. And none of them pleasant.”

His smile quickly faded, replaced by a dawning realisation that these ponies were going to make him swear to secrecy, one way or another. And they, too, had realised by now that negotiation would simply not do it. He blinked, unable to believe it had come to this. All this violence, all these threats, all this elaborate setup, all over a stupid prank at a party? The idea was just so... so petty.

It wasn’t just that, he thought to himself. Maybe... maybe if Golden was behind this, this was his way of trying to convince him into joining the other faction. His faction. That... that had to be it! They want me to betray my friends... to betray Fancy. He could see Fancy in his mind’s eye now, staring at him in disapproval.

No. Hell no. I won’t do that. He felt a hot sensation in his stomach, as if he’d swallowed molten lead. He glanced down to see his hooves were trembling; but not with fear, no. Not at this moment. Blueblood had had enough of this stupid elaborate revenge plot, and frankly, his anger was starting to overpower his fear, and even his sense of basic self-preservation at the moment. The simmering rage that had been cooled by terror was slowly reaching a simmering boil again. And he was ready to just let it all go.

So, steeling his nerves, he raised his head proudly, looked his captor squarely in the eye, and said, “I am not going to swear to secrecy, I refuse to be initiated into your precious cult, and there is no fucking chance of me joining you. I know what you want- you just want me to switch sides. Well allow me to retort. Fuck. You. Do your worst, but I will never, never betray my friends and allies like that.”

The cultist leader did not even flinch, nor show any other sign of being surprised. He simply shook his head, and turned to face his fellow cultists. “I’m sorry it has to come to this. But you will join us. Even if we have to break you first. Hold him still,” he commanded. Four of the cultists scrambled to obey his orders, their horns glowing as tendrils of magic wrapped around Blueblood’s limbs.

He struggled against his bonds weakly, before the merasha kicked in again and he went limp. He was truly helpless now, he realised grimly. Immobilised, barely conscious, and completely alone, he was trapped. And nopony was going to come looking for him. He squeezed his eyes shut, thinking of anything that could distract him from what he knew was to come. Think of Fancy, he thought, clinging to that thought as if it were a lifeline. I’m in the garden with Fancy. I’m leaning into his shoulder while he strokes my mane. It’s just us, the flowers, and the warm sun on our faces. He’s wrapping a foreleg around my back and I nuzzle into his shoulder. I’m-

Blueblood bit back a cry as he felt a burning in his side, a faint sizzling sound in his ears as his heart thudded a hundred miles a minute. He whimpered, the smell of burning fur choking him. He dared to open his eyes a little, only to see the bright red end of an iron rod hovering a few inches from his body. Gods, he could feel the heat from it a foot away. “Will you join us now?”

He shook his head and shut his eyes again, unable to hold back the all-encompassing, visceral terror of what was happening. It wasn’t the pain itself that scared him; it was waiting for the next dose. He had absolutely no idea what they were going to do next, what fresh pain he would be subjected to. He just wanted to curl up into a ball and be somewhere, anywhere else. And they knew that.

Don’t let them see you’re scared, he thought. You’re stronger than this. Can’t... can’t let them see I’m weak. He focused on Fancy again, forcing himself to focus only on him. I’m not here. I’m warm and I’m happy and safe with him. We’re together in bed, snuggled under the covers. I can smell his cologne, sharp and masculine and intoxicating. He has his forehooves wrapped around me, his muzzle against the back of my neck. His breath is so warm- “AGH!”

His next scream echoed loud enough for ponies to hear from miles around, the cultists outside the door grimacing before going back to their worship. If anypony sympathetic was listening to his cries, they certainly weren’t going to help him.

Fancy Pants had been sitting and waiting for the past three hours, glancing back and forth at the door as if expecting his best friend to walk through it at any minute. After the third hour, he’d had enough. It was time to turn to the divinities for help.

With that in mind, he stood before the lararium in the atrium of his house, the flames from a small brazier the only light in the room. His head was bowed, a dark grey shawl draped over it in the form of a cowl as he muttered the phrases he’d prayed a hundred times. “Be thou well, Mother Camina. May your flames always guide us to the Athanatoi. May all be well on this night in my house.” Incense was cast on the brazier, sweet smoking rising almost instantly from the coals. “Father Janus, opener of the way, arise. May this incense honour you this night.”

He bowed deeply, kissing his hoof and extended it towards the shrine in salute, where the two-faced figure of Janus stared at him quizzically from a carving above his head. He knew this rite by rote, but never before had he been so invested in it. With slightly trembling hooves, he lifted a two-handled cup of wine, slowly pouring the contents onto the coals of the brazier, watching as the flames rose up a little before returning to their usual height. With a sigh, he handed the cup to a servant, who disappeared with it to somewhere else in the house.

He was completely alone now in the room, the rest of the household already either gone to bed or in other rooms. It was best that way- he wanted to, no, he needed to do this himself. Bowing deeply, he placed a small cake of spelt flour, a sprig of lavender from his garden, and a gold ring with his family crest on it on the altar of the shrine. “Concordia, Lady of Peace and Order, refuge of those in danger or distress, I offer you this wine, this cake, these flowers, this ring. I pray you, I beseech you,. I beg you to hear my prayer, and be favourable to my request. I ask for blessings upon dear friend, Blue.”

His voice trembled slightly, despite his best attempts to remain calm and solemn. “May, wherever he is, he find comfort and peace in the midst of trials. May he find light in the darkness, may he find rest and quietness in the midst of distress. May he be found quickly and brought home. And if he is...” Fancy choked slightly, the thought hard for him to even imagine. “...if he is dead, may Dis swiftly give him an honoured place amongst his ancestors. If he is returned to us alive, I will rejoice and have a proper offering dedicated at your temple. This I vow to you.” He kissed his hoof again, raising his head. “I pray, by you and all the Athanatoi, that all will be made fortunate.”

He inclined his head one more time, before turning around with a sigh. “It is done.”

“Let’s hope Concordia gets the message, then,” a voice muttered from nearby. Fancy just nodded, turning to see Fleur watching him from the doorway to the study. “Speedily, I imagine.”

“How long have you been there?” he asked tiredly, removing the cowl from his head and setting it aside.

“About ten minutes now. Your pacing could’ve worn holes in the tile.”

“Can you blame me?” He muttered rhetorically. “It’s been nearly two hours now, and Tayriyis isn’t back. I can’t help but wonder...”

Fleur quickly closed the space between them, nuzzling under his chin. “Shh, Fancy. Enough of that. We will find him. Trust me when I say Tayriyis always gets the information I need.”

Fancy felt his tension subside a little, but was still on edge. “If you say so,” he said with a shrug, trying to stay positive. “It’s just... hard, you know? Gods only know where he is, how he is, who captured him...” His eyes were fixed on the doorway at the far end of the atrium, staring as if the sheer force of his will would cause them to open and Blueblood to appear. “I can’t believe this happened to him. Dammit, I’m... I’m supposed to look out for him, and look what happened! Abducted at a fu-” He stopped the curse short, just barely able to restrain himself. “...at an orgy.”

“Fancy, you can’t possibly blame yourself for this mess...”

“I can, and I am.” He said sharply, wincing at the look that flashed across Fleur’s face. He closed his eyes, letting his expression settle into a calmer one. “I know you’re trying to be reassuring, but I don’t need it right now. So please, let me be hard on myself, for once. I’ll survive a little guilt.”

Fleur nodded, though he could tell she wanted to protest. Her face was set like flint, but her eyes were slightly watery. She swallowed. “I... I understand. Just remember who else is at fault when we’re going to hunt down the abductors.”

Fancy laughed, the sound too loud to his own ears. “Don’t worry, I do remember. And I intend to make sure they pay for it.” His voice was a whisper, low and deadly and promising an unhappy end to the perpetrators. Fleur was a little unnerved, as she’d never seen him this... viciously protective before. “Nopony hurts my best friend and gets away with it. By Invidia, they will get what’s coming to them.”

They stood in silence for a while, waiting, watching as the time ticked by agonisingly slow. Just as Fancy got to his hooves to stretch a little, he heard a loud knocking on the door. Relief swept over him like a wave breaking on the shore, as he sprinted towards the door to unlock it. “Come in, please!”

A second later, a slightly dishevelled zebra made his way inside, slamming the door behind him. He was grinning from ear to ear, despite being clearly out of breath. “I know where he is,” Tayriyis said between breaths, looking at Fleur with pride. “It’s the old Mysteries villa in the Quarter, Domina. The one that’s been abandoned for a century. You get everypony together, and I can lead you to it.”

Author's Note

The Greek in this chapter is taken mainly from the actual Homeric hymns to Helios and Selene. The translation is below:

Hail Immortal Helios, of the fiery crown! Hail! Lord. Give me, in your kindness, a life to please my heart.

Hail mighty Selene! From her immortal head a radiance shines from heaven embracing the earth, and great is the beauty of her shining light, so she is a sure token and a sign to mortal men. Hail, white-armed goddess, bright Selene!

Vall' eis korakas is an ancient Greek curse meaning roughly 'to the crows' or 'may you be thrown to the crows.'