Pythia

By Daniel Spiteri, Sr

Pythia is set in a dystopian future in which human cloning has been perfected; with men no longer biologically necessary, society has undergone radical change and become a matriarchy, with men serving as chattel and entertainment. In the name of redressing the injustices of the past, spirituality and traditional social structures are upended or forbidden, and the realm is governed by a tyrannical ruler who preserves her power through pseudo-science and appeals to fear and vengefulness. The protagonist, Simon Peter, is a gladiator who must hide his true beliefs in order to survive, as he struggles with other like-minded souls, male and female alike, to throw off the yoke of oppression and return human society to its former glory.

Will Simon Peter and his Freedom Fighters succeed? Will men and women live side by side? Or will the status quo prevail, leaving men, and the women who love them, living in fear and loneliness?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Kingdom International Publishing
• Release date: Jul 20, 2021
• ISBN: 9781912680405

Book preview

Copyright © 2021 by Daniel Spiteri, Sr.

All rights reserved. This book is protected by copyright. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including as photocopies or scanned-in or other electronic copies, or utilized by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission by the copyright owner.

ISBN: 978-912680-41-2 (paperback)

ISBN: 978-1-912680-40-5 (ebook)

Printed in the United States of America

Kingdom International Publishing

www.kingdominternationalpublishing.com

Camarillo, CA

Email: [e-mail]

Library of Congress Control Number:

2021912822

Cover Design by 100Covers.com

Interior Design by FormattedBooks.com

Contents

Part One

1

2

3

4

Part Two

5

6

7

Part Three

8

9

10

11

Part Four

12

13

14

15

16

17

18

Part Five

19

20

21

22

Author Bio

Reviews of Pythia

Pythia ignites smart conversations about a number of important societal topics including gender equality, religion, abortion, and more. Spiteri has done well to create a world mirroring the never-ending issues we have in today’s world. This futuristic narrative offers thoughts and concerns about the state of our own time, creating a dystopian atmosphere with a strong purpose and foundation.

Pythia’s story asks, What if? It has interesting characters, a complex futuristic world, and a platter of themes that book clubs could gather together for lively discussions. For the past thousand years, men took the dominant role in world history creating rules for everything and everyone, especially women. Spiteri reverses the roles, turning them into an alternate future where women rule over men with an iron hand. Fortunately for us, Spiteri provides female characters like Preeta to help us see that not all the women here look down on men as second-class citizens, giving us hope that gender equality, even in the wildest circumstances, can be possible.

Independent Book Review

10.0 out of 10.0 stars

Full of twists and turns, heart-pounding rivalry, excitement and battles, the main character, Simon Peter fights and regains love that he never thought possible. This is an imaginative, creative, and interesting adult novel from an author that reaches deep into the human psyche, bringing forth incentive to not only continue reading his book, but gives a subtle call to get back to God’s ways, since proving in this dystopian realm that man left to himself, or in this case, herself, only brings complete destruction and chaos upon all that is good and pleasurable. The novel leaves one remembering that to not follow God’s natural order of things and people, brings only despair in propagating perverse evil.

Well-done, I would look for more from this author.

—CBM Christian Book Review

Sometimes a book draws in the reader by the action and characters we feel we know personally by the end. This is what Pythia did for me. I truly hope there are sequels to this too-short novel, because I want to learn more about these characters who became very real on the pages. This gem of a page turner held my interest and definitely left me wanting more! I didn’t want to stop reading it once I started it.

—Dr. Matthew Agnew

Lead Pastor, Camarillo Christian Church

This book has elements of the movie Gladiator and The Hunger Games as it sheds light on current hot button topics to get us thinking deeper about our values and Christianity as a reflection of reality.

—Fr. Steve Kim

St. Lucy Catholic Parish,

Campbell, CA

I want to thank J.K Rowling for encouraging me to write this book, to Stephen King for giving me the core ideas explored in this book, to George R. R. Martin for introducing me to my agent, to Amy Tan for helping me discover mother/daughter relationships expressed in this book, to Ayaan Hirsi Ali for editing this book, and to Haruki Murakami for translating my book into Japanese and helping me introduce it into the Japanese market.*

*This ENTIRE BOOK is a work of fiction. All names are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

This book is dedicated to you, who are compelled to read this book. May you experience vicariously the thrills and dangers of adventure.

1

The sun shone like it always did, on this day like any other. The sun shines indifferently on mundane days and extraordinary days alike. You might say that this day, as seemingly banal as yesterday, was the beginning of something of historical import like the American Revolution, the birth of Jesus of Nazareth, the tearing down of the Berlin Wall, the invention of the printing press, or the perfection of human cloning, to select a few in a series of many.

Simon Peter (ever since the cloning, all men just had two first names) looked down at the cat. He had always liked cats, although he’d be hard-pressed to give a good reason if you asked him why. Perhaps it was the purring and the meowing—like little motors on a fluffy ball of fur—that drew him to them. Cats provided just a bit of escape from the harshness and drudgery of life. Or perhaps it was the freedom that they exhibited. You cannot herd a cat. And Simon Peter respected and acknowledged the freedom of cats because he was not free. The only freedom he ever experienced was freedom of thought. And in that sense, he felt freer than any educated mistress, because concomitant with education is indoctrination—forced to groupthink, forced to show everyone that you belong in the club. But Simon Peter’s very existence—his survival—was an act of rebellion and gave him a sense of freedom. He petted the cat, and tried to hold it to him, but it scurried away.

He sat on an old wooden bench in an enclosure, a cage really, that adjoined the ring. From there, he could see through the bars. Two men were fighting. He knew them both. He had trained with them in the gymnasium, as it was called. Now they were in the coliseum, or as the men preferred to call it, the ring. The coliseum stank of blood and rot, bleach and dirt, sweat, voided bowels and metal. The stands held some 40,000 seats and they were filled with the all-female audience.

To one side of Simon Peter’s cage was John John, awaiting his match in another cage. He was the largest fighter in the gymnasium, and as such one of the most revered. John John stood inside his cage with his left foot propped up on a bench and his hands on the bars, looking earnestly at the fight. Without taking his eyes off the fighting men, he said to Simon Peter, Thanks for leading us in prayer this morning. Takes the edge out of life.

Simon Peter did not respond.

John John continued, We need that, you know. Hope. Being reminded that God loves us. At least someone loves us.

Not all the men appreciate my prayers, replied Simon.

That’s true. You can lead a horse to water, but you can’t make them drink. But even the men who don’t follow Christ respect you.

Out in the arena, Ben Sam and John Ralph were anything but disinterested. One man would live, the other die. That immediacy made for intense concentration and a rush of adrenaline. Physically, the two men were evenly matched, and had about the same years of training. Their win/loss record was about equal, too, but nobody kept track of such things. The gladiators knew that the next match was the only one that mattered. And the fans had no reason to keep track; for them, men were just one step above robots.

Ben Sam wore a breastplate and metal helmet like that of a secutor with only two small eye holes, carried a small shield and used a short sword as his offensive weapon, while John Ralph was lightly armored with no breastplate and no helmet, but a greave, a metal arm guard and a shoulder guard on his dominant sword arm. He, too, carried a small shield.

Ben Sam stalked John Ralph, pivoted toward him and steel clanged on steel. Once, twice, three times. A step back. A jab. They were testing each other, sizing each other up. How fast is my opponent? How are his reflexes? What is his weakness? These were the thoughts that ran through both their minds. Their swords rang out together, and gleamed brightly in the sunlight, so much so that, once or twice, some members of the audience would lose sight of the fighters. Musicians soundtracked the action with woodwinds, playing lightly and staccato.

John Ralph backed away and danced to Ben Sam’s left side. He was obviously much more agile than his opponent; after all, he was not burdened by heavy metal armor like his adversary. He slashed at Ben Sam’s back, a vital area not protected by armor, but the only thing he cut was the air. Ben Sam turned to face John Ralph, shield between them, and thrust at his rival’s heart, but John Ralph blocked it with his shield. Ben Sam moved forward, shield up, sword jabbing quickly at the head, the chest, the chest again, the head, slash across from left to right, slash again, jab, jab, slash.

John Ralph was content to play this game. He obliged by moving backward. If I can possibly tire him out, he thought. Ben Sam exposed his dominant right side while his sword arm lashed out. John Ralph saw the opportunity and hacked at his opponent’s legs, but his reach was too short. The other fighter did the same, just to show that he could be just as agile even weighted down with armor. He wanted his adversary to watch his lower body, too. Ben Sam made contact, but only a clang, while John Ralph hopped lightly and danced even further to his opponent’s left.

Shields between them, in a sort of stalemate alignment, Ben Sam had to swivel to his left, too, but this was a more cumbersome challenge for him.

Fight. Fight, some of the women screamed.

John Ralph looked at the crowd, smiled and winked. A vastly important part of being a gladiator was entertaining your audience. After all, even after a loss, the all-female audience may spare you if they enjoyed your banter, your antics, or if you were visually pleasing to them.

But John Ralph could not spend too much time on showmanship; he had a fight to attend to. And any misstep in this dance meant death.

After more dancing, more parrying, more dodging, more feinting, John Ralph began raining steel. But his competitor met every swipe with the steel of his blade or the metal of his shield. The ringing clash of steel on steel aroused the crowd, and the heart-pounding music intensified. John Ralph was driving into his challenger, but he was being checked each time. Still, the advance continued. John Ralph stepped lightly, never taking his eyes off his foe. He was clearly quicker than Ben Sam, but the other man was well protected. John Ralph lunged, striking only a spark.

Some in the audience demanded their cups be filled. More wine. More wine, they called to their male servants, while others watched the dance of death intently as if there was nothing else in the world. John Ralph’s fans seemed to be the former, while Ben Sam’s fans were the latter. The word fans comes from the word fanatics, and it was obvious to see the fanaticism, the fervor of this crowd. The shrieks, the demands to fight and speed up the action were so clear you could almost taste it. You could definitely smell it in the air. It was palpable.

The women’s demands for more action only revealed their lack of experience in fighting. For the men in the center of the arena, the action was of vital importance. Did they live to win the purse, which was usually quite a sum? Did they live to please another woman? Did they live to eat another sumptuous victory feast? Did they buy their freedom, at least their freedom from fighting? Or would they be carried off like an unwanted heap of trash?

Simon Peter often thought how he wound up here, a gladiator. A man had only