Disclaimer: I don't own Greek Mythology, the Trojan War, or any characters that are associated with said war, and neither does anyone else for that matter, so why put in a disclaimer?
Author's Notes: Okay, this was something that I wrote a while ago when I was obsessed with the Trojan War and extremely angry with Paris. I think the Chinese movie I was watching simultaneously also contributed to my little Paris bashing crazed mind(stupid cheating bastards!). I don't think that this fic will actually go anywhere, but I figured that I might as well post it. Anyway, this scene is kind of taken from The Firebrand by Marion Zimmer Bradley(a pretty good book by the way, if anyone wants to read it). Well, that's all I have to say, so I hope you enjoy!
Forsaken Legacy
Chapter I: Taken
The bright, golden sun beats down heavy, relentless rays of burning heat upon my back, causing the skin to tingle, and for a moment, I wonder if I had finally burst into flames. The dirt path creates small clouds of dust from each step I tread, causing some dry sand grains to slip inside my sandals, aggravating my feet; if I have to walk much longer, I know that I will start to bleed.
Once more I find myself yearning for Mount Ida. I miss lazing in the tall, rich green grass while the cool night breeze plays with the fallen leaves, leaping into the air in a great arc before blowing past to a place unknown. I miss the songs of the many waterfalls as they dance just a short distance away, originating from a peak so high that it could have been a descent from the starry heavens above. I miss the cooling fogs that hide all my troubles from me and me from my troubles, tempting me to fall asleep to my heart's content, promising to keep me safe until I awaken from my moment of bliss. But most of all, I miss the silent whispers of the old majestic trees that tell of a time when Gods and Goddesses were still young and filled with hopes and dreams for a new world that they can protect and treasure till the end of infinity.
My shoulders slump from the memories that seem so close yet so far away. This action in turn irritates my sweaty palm, which is currently within my mother's firm clasp. It might seem a bit patronizing, as I am probably too old for this ritual of holding hands, but then, I don't mind that much. My mother gave birth to me, she clothed me, fed me, raised me all by herself. So why shouldn't I give something back to her? If this simple act of affection gives her a sense of happiness, it's the least I can do.
Vindictive laughter sounds to my right a little ways ahead, and I see a few boys about my age snickering and pointing in my direction. "Aw, look at the little baby! He's too afraid to walk down the street without holding his mother's hand!"
My only response is to roll my eyes and give an exasperated sigh. Honestly! You'd think on the day of the Planting Festival, they'd have something better to do than make fun of complete strangers! It seems that my mother misjudged my annoyance with the boys to be annoyance with her. She glances down at me and with a sad smile, and said, "Corythus, you don't have to hold my hand if you don't want to." Even through her words, I can feel her grip tightening, as if she was afraid that I'd run away from her and never return. This fear of hers never seemed to get any better. Ever since Prince Paris left us, she was constantly afraid that I would follow in his footsteps and abandon her. She once confessed to me that sometimes, she would see Him like he was before he left, as if he were some ghost that took cruel pleasure in haunting her with visions of a happy family. Because of this, she would always need to touch me, to make sure that I was really there.
I look up into her shining, big green eyes and say, "What would I do with the approval of strangers that I see only on the streets of a far off town, and most likely will never see again?"
A small smile of relief graces her lips and she stops momentarily to bend down and squeeze me in a hug. "I am lucky to have a son that is not ashamed of staying close to his mother."
We continue on our way without much trouble. From time to time other boys would jeer at me, but I pretty much ignored them. Instead, I repeated the lessons my mother had taught me. Deadly Nightshade is a poisonous plant with reddish flowers and black berries. If it is swallowed it most likely is fatal, and therefore vomiting should be induced immediately. It can also be used in healing, for it can be a sedative if grinded into a powder. My mother is a healer, and she had been teaching me all of the herbs she knows ever since I was almost two years of age, right after I learned how to understand language; that was about four years ago.
It was often very lonely during those times. I didn't know anyone my age with whom I could have an intelligent conversation, and the older children weren't willing to talk to me. Learning the language was fairly easy, even then. My mother had taken me everywhere with her, so I had plenty of time to listen, and to think. I gathered fragments at a time, and I only had to concentrate a little to piece them all together. My mother also read me scrolls that were laying about our little hut as I glanced at the once indiscernible scribbles, and it clicked. I don't know how to explain it, but it simply made sense to me. Perhaps it was the work of Athena as everybody on Mount Ida had claimed, but I doubt it. Why would the Goddess bestow a gift on me?
"Corythus, what are the symptoms of Septicemia?" Mother, breaking the silence between us, was giving me another test. We hadn't talked about Septicemia, otherwise known as blood poisoning, for about two years, but I have no trouble recalling it from memory.
"The victim experiences chills, and feelings of depression. Shivering, accompanied by sweating, occurs, while the heartbeat increases dramatically. They also usually develop a red streak from the wound to the direction of the heart."
Mother gives a nod of approval at my answer and continues. "What are the herbs used to treat Septicemia?"
"Smartweed, burdock, bloodroot, elm, flax seed, golden seal, myrrh, rattleweed, sassafrahs, and chickweed," I answer without faltering.
"Now tell me about burns…."
We easily fall back on our familiar, if somewhat professional, discussions. For hours my mother asked me about herbs illnesses, and treatments for those illnesses that she hadn't mention for years, and I wracked my memory to find the answers. We also debated new ways of treating illnesses that other healers had tried and, according to them, had succeeded.
Before I know it, we are at the wide, open field where the festival will take place, and we are forced to put our conversation aside for the time being. My mind, however, ran along a new subject. Personally, I thought that this festival was a stupid idea. We are at war! Pirates come and pilfer from the city as they please! Why don't we just hang a banner from the walls that say "Help yourself!" Tradition be damned! If the Gods are all powerful like everyone says, one less sacrifice is hardly going to make a difference! And if they are going to be cruel and petty, are they going to lay their wrath on Troy? If the Gods are determined to destroy Troy, I doubt that it would be because we gave them 99 parties this year instead of 100. I heard about the "Judgment of Paris," as they call it these days. If the Gods are really as vindictive as the stories suggest, then both Athena and Hera would hold grudges. I don't understand why they didn't simply turn Prince Paris into a pig at that instant and save us all a whole lot of trouble!
I glance up at my mother and find her gazing up at the high walls with a deep sadness in her eyes, tears threatening to fall down her cheeks. I knew exactly whom she was staring at before I took a look myself. There, standing straight and filled with false pride was the golden boy himself: Paris, Prince of Troy, son of King Priam. He wore gleaming armor of plaited gold; the bright sun reflected off of it in beacons of glowing light, blinding all who gazed upon him. I haven't seen him since that day when he had returned from his travels…
Җ
I sit in the oversized wooden chair right next to the pallet that my mother was currently sleeping on. It had been a long procedure. The kind of illness the old man had was quite rare, and, unfortunately, a very exhausting one to cure. For two days Mother hadn't slept, being too busy mixing herbs, finding ways to stop his shivers, and trying to get him to eat when he was practically asleep. Mother said that we may have arrived too late to save him, but she tried her best anyway and it paid off. Just last night, the man's fever had finally started to cool.
I had already memorized the procedure, the herbs, and some other herbs that might be useful in treating the violent shivers. Now all I need is to find something to occupy myself with the next…eight hours or so. My shoulders sag at this realization. Swinging one's legs back and forth can only entertain you for so long.
A clay cup filled with water was pushed into my hands, and I glance up to see Acantha's soft, warm smile. She took a seat next to me on the floor, and said in a quiet voice as to not disturb my mother, "I really appreciate what your mother has done. She has made my sister very happy, in giving her husband back to her. You must be bored to tears here in the big city when you're cooped up inside all day."
I tilt my head to the side to look at her more closely. She was a bit younger than my mother, with long, wavy black hair and bright, brown eyes. Her waist seemed a bit too small for good health, but some things can't be helped. Her skin was paler than usual, but that didn't matter since it tended to match the bags under her eyes, creating a nice, one step away from death look. Apparently, the sick old man sleeping, for once, peacefully in the next room had caused more trouble than I had thought.
' It's not his fault that he's sick!' said the reprimanding voice in my head.
'Oh, I know! It's just that…wait a minute! I don't need to defend myself from myself! I know what I meant!' retorted another voice in my head.
I am interrupted from my thoughts when I hear a commotion outside. Dying for something to do, I eagerly leapt off the chair and raced to the doorway. Once outside, my eyes went wide at the spectacle before me. It seemed as if the entire town was racing to somewhere up ahead, reminding me of legions of ants. I looked up as Acantha appeared beside me with a curious expression on her face.
"I wonder what the big fuss is about," she said to herself.
I gave her a hopeful, almost begging look, and said, "Can I find out?" Acantha seemed hesitant, giving a quick look back at my mother, who was still sound asleep. "She's still very tired from the healing. Let her sleep. I'll be fine. You could come with me if you like." Acantha still looked a bit doubtful, but then, like most of the time, curiosity wins. She nodded and grabbed my hand before leading me past the doorstep and into the swarm, letting the throng of the crowd carry us along as if we were logs in a raging river.
I had to hold on tight to her hand so that we won't get separated from each other as we are pushed and shoved along. I wondered where we were going, but it looked like we were heading toward the palace… my heart leapt to my throat as a tiny speck of hope fluttered through my mind. Could it be? Could Father finally be coming home? I hadn't seen him in over a year, not since he left to participate in the tournament. My mother had once told me the tale of my father. She said that the queen had had a vision right before his birth, that he would bring about the destruction of Troy. So, like many have done before them, the King and Queen had fostered my father to a simple Shepard on Mount Ida, trying to divert the path of fate. That is how he had met my mother, while herding a band of sheep. After they had met a couple of more times, he had asked her to marry him, and she accepted. Then the day came for the annual tournament in Troy. Father had told me that he just had an undeniable yearning to attend, as if it were the will of the Gods. As it turns out, the King had recognized his son and had welcomed him back with open arms. I hadn't heard from him since. But, he could hardly be blamed for that. Almost immediately, he was sent to Sparta, to try and convince my great aunt to return. Perhaps now, he has finally come home.
After a long and dreadfully slow journey-- at least it had seemed that way to me-- the crowd came slowly came to a halt, gathering along the streets, cheering so loudly that my ears started to ring. I try to glance upwards, over the pack of heads, to see what all the excitement was about. Acantha noticed my struggle, and hoisted me up into her arms and swung me around until I held onto her neck.
That was when I saw him. His dark, brown hair was blowing gently in the wind as his chariot was pulled along the narrow streets; his bright, blue eyes sparkled in the golden sun; his warm smile graced his lips as he waved to the people. I tried my hardest to catch his attention. I called out to him, but he didn't seem to hear me. I gestured frantically to him, almost sliding off Acantha's back in the process, but he just tossed a casual wave in my direction, not even seeing my face. I became discourage, and a pang of fear struck my heart. If he were to reach behind the palace walls, I'd never be able to reach him. I'm sure that he would come back home eventually, but I just couldn't wait that long.
Before I could talk myself out of it, I squirmed out of Acantha's arms and made a mad dash in the same direction the chariot was heading, paying no heed to Acantha's loud shouts for me to come back. I struggled against the crowd, trying my best to wiggle in between the numerous legs that blocked my way.
'You shouldn't have done that! You're going to make her worried! What if you get lost?'
'If I don't get to Father now, it'll be forever before I see him again! And I won't get lost!'
'Do you know the way back?'
'Straight!'
From a far off distance I heard another chariot thunder down the streets, and I knew that I was not the only one eager for my father's return. The rest of his family must be rushing to greet him as well, if they are going to abandon the icy exterior of royalty in order to meet him out on the streets. When I noticed that the chariots were at a deadlock, I swerved to make a turn to my left, so that I can be at the very edge of the crowd. The mob had quieted in order to hear the King speak with his son, and I was able to catch most of the conversation, and see the entire scenario before me.
But, what I witnessed only managed to perplex me. The people around me had made a unanimous gasp of wonder as my father unveiled a blonde woman, and was currently holding her in his arms the way I remembered he used to hold Mother. I didn't understand why the people had reacted the way that they did. It didn't seem that surprising to me that the woman should have a whole face under that veil she wore. After all, women wore veils all the time; it didn't necessarily mean that they were disfigured.
"I present to you, Father, Helen of Sparta, who has consented become my wife," my father said, his voice ringing clearly throughout the street. This statement had only served to confuse me even more. His wife? Father already has a wife! I'm living proof of that!
I turn my attention back to the conversation at hand. Perhaps I'll be able to place it all together later with more information.
"But, I thought that she was already taken. Or was I mistaken when I heard that you were wedded to Menelaus?" An old, graying man whom I assumed to be my grandsire and King had spoken, obviously as baffled as I was.
"I was, but not of my own will. I beg of you, my lord, please give us your blessing, for I love Paris with every breath in my body. I cannot bear it if you were to send me away, and forced me to spend the remainder of my life in an unloving marriage to that cold man," spoke the mystery woman as she stepped forward and grab the King's hands. She gazed up into his eyes, giving him a look I had seen my friend Halia give her father when she either wanted something that would cost him greatly or had been caught creating mischief.
A gloomy thought creeps into my mind of what exactly was happening.
'Perhaps Father didn't want us anymore. Perhaps he had grown tired of us and had moved on to other things.' I don't know if this actually happened amongst humans, but my mind had made another connection. Maybe it was the same as a child getting bored with an old toy, and would throw it away as soon as he received a new one.
'No! It couldn't be! Corythus, think of all the times the two of you went down to the waterfalls and throw rocks! Think of when he would surprise Mother with herbs that can only be found at the base of the mountain, and he had woken up early just to pick them for her! Father would never do that to us! Never! ' But, as the conversation went on, it was getting harder and harder to convince myself of this.
Now another woman, tall and slender, who possessed an uncanny resemblance with my father, had spoken up. She was evidently apart of the royal family, and most likely his sister.
"Father! I beg of you! Send this cursed woman back to Menelaus! She will bring nothing but ruin to our country!" she screeched, desperate for the king to concur with her.
"I knew you were mad from the beginning, Cassandra! Must you scorn all in your path?!" Now Father was arguing with her, and it seemed as if this family chat would turn aggressive. My father looked as if he was about to strangle the woman.
"You think that I do this out of disdain?! Even you must see reason in this! Menelaus shall go to his brother, who will not hesitate to wage war! He has been looking for an excuse to destroy us for years now! Are you going to just hand it to him?! Are you that selfish that you would annihilate our homeland just so that you can have another concubine?! Besides! You cannot marry this woman! From your very lips you have told us all at your homecoming feast that you already have a wife and a son! Do you dare deny it?!" I have officially decided that I like this woman.
My hopes have been slowly stripped away, but I still cling on to that one, last handful of faith that I am simply mistaken, that I am too young and have not the experience to understand what is truly happening.
"I do! The marriage was not official, and I have no way of knowing that the child she bore was mine."
The pit of my stomach dropped, and I had to swallow hard to keep from purging what little food I had eaten that morning. My head felt light and tense at a standstill, not able to comprehend conscious thought. That one, last shred of conviction was just cruelly snatched from me. I felt as if the very foundations of the ground I stand upon had just collapsed underneath my feet, and that there was nothing I could do except fall to the very center of the earth.
That is it. I have no other way of denying it now. There is no way that I can delude myself any longer.
I felt gentle hands being placed on my shoulder, squeezing them in comfort. I pull myself back to the here and now, finally noticing that I hadn't been breathing. I look up at Acantha, and the expression on her face just confirmed my conclusion: the tears in her eyes for the sympathy of her friend, the way her lips were perched in anger at the careless manner my father had just denied my existence, the quivering in her arms as she worried over how I would react.
That's it? Is that all I am to him? Those times when he took me out to the lake so that we would lazy about all day, simply talking about nonsense…what did they mean to him? Nothing? Or how about those times he would comfort me after the other children had teased me? Was that just his way of getting me to stop whining? Did he wonder if I was his child then to?
My thoughts brake off from their self-pitiful rants as I remembered something else he had said…
He wonders if Mother had stayed faithful to him?! What right does he have?! How dare he! How dare he accuse her of his crime when she had stayed up countless of nights, gazing out into the ocean, hoping for a glimpse of his return?! After all of her sorrow, after all her waiting, after all of her prayers to the patron Goddess Hera, this is how he repays her?! Instead of thanking the Gods for such a loyal wife, he tries to sweep our very existence under the rug as if we were no more than dirt blown in from the wind and were simply a hindering annoyance? Is that all we are to him? An annoyance?
My fists were clenched so hard that I left crescent shapes branded on my palm. Every fiber of my being seemed to shake with a blazing white rage that I had never felt before in my life. Red flashed before my eyes at the scene before me. Apparently, the conversation was over, and the royal family was welcoming the new couple with open arms.
So, that's it? Is that my fate, then? To be left forgotten?
"I have never felt this kind of love for anyone before you, my dear Helen," my fath—no, his Royal Highness-- had proclaimed to the foreign woman, loud enough for me to hear.
At that statement, something inside me just snapped. For the first time in my life, I didn't care for reason. My mind was a complete blank as I let my emotions take over. I just wanted to ruin the happy moment for them. Why should they have joy when I was left with nothing; when my entire life was just taken from me?
I glance down at that nice rock lying conveniently at my feet. I bent down to pick it up, clutching it in my sweaty palm. It was a good size: bigger than my hand, but small enough to throw. Without sparing a thought, I hurled it with all of my strength up and forward. It seemed as if time stood still as the stone flew through the air. Silence reigned when people were starting to notice the peculiar object, confounded as to the situation. The rock sailed across the street, spinning in a great arc, until it struck the Mighty Prince squarely on the back of his head, causing him to stumble to the ground in an undignified heap. Aren't you proud of me, Father?! All those times you spent with me throwing rocks into the river and now I finally get a good hit.
"What kind of love is that?! The one where you stab the ones who loved you the most in the back the second they disappear from your sight?! The one where you care not one bit about the heart of the woman you would break, who had stood faithfully by your side since the day she met you?!" I shouted at the top of lungs, screaming my throat raw. I knew not what came over me, but I would not allow this…thing to leave this scene unscathed.
My limbs were suddenly seized by two pairs of heavily muscled arms, wrestling me to the ground. I fought as best as I could, managing to punch one man in the jaw and kicking another in the shins. This action didn't do much damage, considering that I am five and am no match for trained guards. Still, they grunted in frustration, but refused to handle me as roughly as they normally would have. Sometimes being just a child had its advantages.
"Stop! Stop this right now!" I heard a feminine voice shout from somewhere to my left. The soldiers were stunned and froze, but not loosening their grip enough for me to escape. The woman who is the source of all my troubles loomed over me, her face filled with concern. "Dear child, calm down. We will not harm you. We know that it was just an accident." An accident? An accident?! Is she that stupid?! How could that be an accident? Did the rock just slip from my hands and a bird banged into it, sending it whirling at such speeds as to be able to knock a fully grown man off his feet?!
I fixed her with a glare that I wished could kill. My entire being was trembling with the urge to strike at this woman, to cause her the pain that she has caused me. "Oh! I'm sorry!" I replied in my most pleasant, condescending manor. "Yes, it was just an accident. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that I had just heard my own father not only reject me, but deny that his blood flows through my veins, because of you!" The woman tilted her head, looking tremendously confused. Is this what He rejected my mother for? Is there just air between her ears?! They must have very interesting conversations! Of course, maybe with Her, He will finally be at his own level, and for once in his life be able to understand every word that comes out of his wife's mouth!
I gave a frustrated sigh. "Prince Paris is my father, you half-wit!"
'Corythus! Don't be so disrespectful!' Now that annoying voice in my head that represented all the mannerism any decent parent would drill into their children reprimanded me.
'Shut up! I'm allowed this! I'm experiencing a very traumatic and life changing moment here!'
Now the Prince had entered the scene. I was sane of mind enough to notice the flash of guilt that passed through his eyes, before disappearing into anger. At least he has the decency to feel a little remorse, even if his self-interest had chased it away in a matter of seconds.
"How dare you… you insolent little beast! I should have your head for this insult to my lady!" His face had twisted up as if he had eaten something sour, and his words rained saliva all over me.
A raging fire was rolling within the very pit of my core. How dare I?! Oh I dare! Does he expect me to wish him happiness after he's just left my life in complete ruins?!
"Go ahead!" The crowd grew silent with shock at my challenge. The Prince had also halted in his advances towards my, frozen still at what my words implied. "Go ahead and kill me!" I continued. "Prove to all that your words are truth, and a little five-year-old boy could make up such a story out of spite for you! Prove to all gathered witness here that you truly believe in your story! That you are confident the furies will not haunt your damnable soul for all eternity! What are you waiting for?!"
"No! Stop this!" Acantha had finally broken out of her astounded state to defend me. I felt a wave of relief now that lessened the fear I had not noticed dwelled within me, to know that I have a friend in this situation I had gotten myself into. "Have you no decency, Paris?! You have just abandoned your loving wife, and now you wish to take her son from her to?! It matters not how many times you tell yourself lies! Somewhere in that shadowed soul of yours knows the truth! He is your son and there is no way you can swear in the name of any god that he is not yours! You have already proven that you have no heart from the careless way you have treated the ones that you have claimed to love for many years before She walked before your eyes, but now is your chance to prove that you are still human! If you commit the crime most wicked of man, the gods will not let you rest!"
For a moment I had thought I saw his head bow in shame, but quickly talked myself out of it. After all that he's done, I find it hard to believe he even cares.
He seemed to compose himself and, after taking several deep breaths, finally stated, "I will not slay a child, even an insolent one such as you."
"Liar! You wouldn't hesitate to kill me if you weren't too worried about your judgment before Hades!" Then, I felt a sort of malicious inspiration and turned to the foreign woman. "Does it not bother you, Highness? You have followed a man that would not hesitate to abandon you if a prettier thing were to catch his eye. You are not immortal, and therefore it is only a matter of time before your skin sags and your beauty drips away. Then you'll be cast out into the streets of Troy, with nothing but the cloths on your back. You'll die an old, ugly woman that raves on and on about what used to be."
The Spartan woman's eyes widened, her mouth opening in a horrified gasp. I could see tears springing to her eyes, and she gave out this annoyingly high-pitched wail, fleeing from my side to run into Prince Paris's arms, sobbing openly on his shoulder. The Prince looked absolutely livid, and I feared that his tendency to not think would take over, and that I'd find myself headless in the morning. I look around at the guards, who were fidgeting, and I felt a wave of sadistic pride wash over me. They were very uncomfortable with this situation. Good. It matters not what else should happen today. I have managed to destroy His Highness's good image. I have tarnished any respect that the people of Troy once had for him. At least I could bring a little piece of justice today. My mother shall not be labeled the…the…I don't know a word for whatever it is.
Paris's arm swung up in an arc, and I flinched back, preparing for the blow. I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing myself for the punch to my stomach, the slap against my check, or whatever it was that his arm managed to scrape. But, it never came. Warily, I slowly peeked through my eyelids, and the sight before me made me snap them open with amazement. Acantha had caught Paris's arm in mid-swing. When Paris tried to slap her, she drew her hand back, forming a tight fist, and delivered a resounding punch to his nose. Paris fell back on his bottom, cradling his bleeding and, most likely, broken nose. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see the woman from before, Cassandra, and also a much older, stronger version of Paris, trying their best, unsuccessfully, to cover up their snickers. I felt a grin crack its way to my lips, my anger completely dissipated for now.
Acantha turned back to me, just as I had managed to twist out of the still frozen guards' grasp. She took my hand in hers and said, loud enough for everyone to hear, "Come, Corythus. It now falls onto us to tell your mother that the husband she has been waiting for all these seasons will not be coming back. She will need us to comfort her; the Gods know this sniveling coward won't."
Җ
A wave of anger tore from my very core at that memory. I noticed that a rock, about the same size as the one I had thrown at his head that day was right next to my foot. I wondered, what would happen if I gave Paris a little greeting, just to remind him of my existence once again? Granted, it probably wouldn't do that much physically, since Paris's head is most likely empty. But then, just seeing him get knocked off the wall, hearing that clunking armor crash to the muddy ground, would be well worth the trouble I would get myself into.
But then, I decided against it. That action would only upset Mother, so I settled for fixing my most intimidating death glare at Prince Paris – unfortunately, this didn't work very well since the gleam from the sun was burning my eyes and forcing me to squint. He thought he was so high and mighty! Oenone and Corythus were good enough for Paris the simple shepherd, but not good enough for Paris the Prince of Troy! Wow! He was born! What a great accomplishment for him! I hated him! I hated him for the pain he caused my mother, for inflicting this blasted war upon us, and for making a fool out of me! I once idolized him. I once thought he was a good man with good morals. I once believed that he actually loved me. Foolish me.
I could still remember when I told my mother what had happened on the street that day. The way her eyes had turned cold and dead still haunts my dreams at night. I had expected her to break down and cry, but that was not the case. I wished that she did; I wished that she had let me comfort her in her time of need. But no. She had simply froze for a long while before asking to be alone. The next morning when I woke up, she didn't even mention "the incident" as Acantha and I liked to call it. She acted so…cheerful. And yet, all day, when she would smile, her eyes still possessed that dead, distant look. She still held that motherly warmth towards me, if not more so, but sometimes at night, I can hear her weep and asking of the Goddess Hera "Why?" I knew that she was only putting on a mask for me. She thought that I needed her to be strong. She couldn't see that I can comfort her. She had always taken care of me, and now it's my turn to take care of her.
It's His fault! He did this to her! That selfish, manipulative, conniving…what was that word I heard Acantha use? Oh, right! Cad!
I took a calming breath. There isn't anything I can do about it now. Then again, why would I want to? He had abandoned a woman he had once promised to love forever, and an infant son whom he had sworn to protect. And what of his promises now? Forgotten and overshadowed by the beauty that he sees in his eyes. What kind of human being would do such a thing? Certainly no one I would want to associate with. In fact, I hope that what he said was true; that he wasn't my father. That entire family is insane! Just look at the king! He would risk war with numerous world leaders just so that his son could keep a prize he stole from another man? He is confident that Troy will win simply because the Gods favour this country! That's ridiculous! He is risking everything on chance! Even so, thousands are going to die, whether we win or lose. Does he even care? Or are the lives of peasants not important enough for him to concern his royal self about? I don't want that taint within my blood.
The festival had started, and the ceremonies began. Tedious speeches were delivered, and bizarre dances were performed. I truly don't know where exactly people get the ideas for these traditions in their heads. Did the Gods actually come down to earth one day and tell someone that this is what they wanted? I certainly wasn't enjoying it one bit, so why should they? The Gods live for all of eternity; wouldn't they get tired of the same things year after year?A spine-tingling scream fills my mind, sending a chilling shiver down my already tense spine. Something was wrong. I can hear it! The trees…they were screaming, crying out all through the air! I had to strain to hear the words that beckoned out to me, rushing around me in a blur. Doom is fast approaching… Folly was the king…They are coming! Run! Quickly! Run while you still can! Run! Run!! RUN!!!
A hand grabbed my arm in a frantic grip, and started pulling me away through the thick crowd. I glanced up to see my mother, heading as fast as she could back in the direction of home. She had heard it to.
We had only made it half way out of the thick of the crowd when a monstrous war cry rang through the air, freezing everyone to where they stood. My mother quickened her steps, trying to get the both of us to safety. I glanced back around my shoulder and saw that perhaps a hundred men in black armor had burst into the crowd, brandishing gleaming swords of bronze. Then, someone had sounded the alarm, the bang of the heavy brass gong bringing everyone out of his or her dumb stricken phase. The defenders of Troy ran about, hastening to gather their weapons to mount a counter attack. The people started to panic, screaming, shouting, dashing away to whatever place they thought safe. Arrows and spears now sailed through the air, striking many of their enemies.
In the mad struggle, someone knocked me down, causing my arm to slip from my mother's grasp. I pulled my head up from the dirt and saw that my mother was screaming out to me as the throng of people propelled her farther and farther away. I barely had time to worry about what I might do if I couldn't find her before a giant foot came down and crushed my hand. A blood-curdling wail tore itself from my throat, as I felt the bones shatter; I could even faintly hear the crackling noise as they grinded against each other. After what seemed like an eternity, the massive foot finally moved, and I barely managed to pull my arm out of the way before another foot jumped onto the ground where it used to be. Oddly enough, the acute pain seemed to clear my head and I dragged myself from wallowing in pity. With great effort, I hauled myself to my feet after having been shoved down a few more times. Now the crowd was slightly thinning, and I tried to glance around for my mother. I tried to call the talents bestowed upon me from being half-nymph to hone my eyesight. I now could see farther and more clearly, unveiling the shadows from the sea of faces, and that's when I saw her, still fighting to reach me.
To my horror, when she seemed close enough to touch, a man in armor grabbed her arm, tossed her over his shoulder, and took off towards the sea and to his ship. I couldn't believe what I had just seen. Was it real? Could this have happened?
As if I had been dowsed with cold water, I was hit by both grief and anger so strong that it almost knocked me off my feet.
No! Hasn't she suffered enough?! She doesn't deserve this! My thoughts flash through my mind in a blur, and for the second time in my life, I acted purely on instinct. At my feet lay a fallen foe, an arrow having pierced him through the heart. A short knife had dropped from his hands, and without thinking, I picked it up and made a mad dash to my mother. I will not allow her to suffer in this way! She has no one else to protect her!
Arrows of both fire and blade zoomed all around me, scraping my arms and legs, burning my flesh. Thick, black smoke filled the air, obscuring my vision and robbing me of much needed breath. My lungs fill with the ashen cloud, making me choke and wheeze until my throat is raw, and my stomach is sore.
An arrow blurred from above my head and struck the ground right in front of my left foot, narrowly missing pinning me to the ground by mere inches, bringing me to an abrupt halt. Unfortunately, I am not able to prevent my legs from sliding out from under me, delivering my skin to the arrow of fire, and the flames licked at my bare foot, stripping my toes of flesh bit by bit. I immediately jerk my leg out of danger, but lost what little remaining balance I still had and landed harshly on my back, feeling every rock, twig and broken piece of weapon stabbing into me.
I try to catch my rampaging breath when I heard the boom of thunder, getting closer and closer from behind me. Enormous hooves of dark brown seemed to instantly appear above my head, kicking wildly before swiftly making their inevitable decent. I suck in a breath of both shock and terror, instinctively rolling to my side, managing to avoid getting my skull crushed.
I tumble for a few seconds before colliding into a pair of leather incased feet. I look up to stare into the familiar eyes of Paris, my gut twisting at the sight of him so close to me. He only made a grunt of annoyance, no sign of recognition on his face as he delivered a swift kick to my ribs before running off to the safety of the palace.
I pushed myself onto my hands and knees, taking deep, shuttering breaths. My ribs were throbbing, and I know that they would bruise. That hurt. I thought long ago that whatever Paris would do to me, he couldn't cause me anymore pain than on that day on the streets of Troy. I guess I was wrong. It still hurts. And now, after a cold reminder of just exactly how much I mattered to him, the knife that had imbedded itself into my heart had twisted just a bit more, opening up new wounds that would bleed and perhaps never heal. Two drops of tears fall from my eyes and into the muddy sand, my body shaking with the effort to not brake down and cry again.
With great effort, I heave myself back up onto my wobbly feet, furiously wiping my blurry eyes with my right arm. I will not mourn for my father any longer. For me, he had died two years ago when he left our peaceful home on Mount Ida for the busy city of Troy. It matters not if Prince Paris becomes King of Troy, King of Greece, or the King of the Gods for all I care! To me, he will only be a stranger; to me, he will only be nothing. Now I've wasted enough time on him. I've already lost one parent; I will not stand by to suffer the loss of another.
With renewed vigor, I order my weak legs to move forward, taking me out past the gates and onto the beach, right into the thick of danger. I was lucky enough that no one seemed to notice me, as if I were only a shadow that shifted from place to place. Many men had screaming captives tossed over their shoulders, but only few of them had pursuers that actually cared enough to follow.
A heavily armored body fell right into my path, but instead of stopping, I pushed on the balls of my feet and jumped over the heap. A rampaging horse was galloping towards me on my left, and I ducked down just in time to slide under its belly. Sharp sticks and stones scratched and tore at the back of my thighs, ripping through my flesh, staining the sand with dark, red liquid.
My lungs were heaving, burning with every breath that I took; my legs felt as heavy as stones, dragging me down but I pressed on, going on pure will alone. Ever since the scuffle back within the gates, I had lost sight of my mother, and I prayed to any Gods up there that might still hold a bit of sympathy for me that she had not already been taken on board one of the ships.
I saw a tall, solid rock that towered over the scene, and made a sharp turn towards it. I grasped onto an edge, and using my uninjured arm, throw myself upwards and over the boulder, managing to land halfway up. I had to bend my torso in order to climb the rest of the way up so that I would not fall over backwards. Finally reaching the top, I stand straight on the very edge, closing my eyes and tried to even out my raged breathing as best as I could as my heart pumped, wildly banging in my ears.
I could feel my senses slowly sharpening, seeming to give my body new strength. I can feel the biting icy wind whip my tunic and hair fiercely around me, threatening to shove me off of my high viewing point. I can smell the salty cool mist, rising from the smashing waves of the wide, blue ocean. I can hear the sounds of clanging swords, their echo vibrating through me while the cry of men, women, and children alike boxed my ears, making my head pound and throb. But still I stretched out my hearing, searching for that lone, familiar voice…there!
I snap my eyes open, the rush of sight sends me to dizzying heights and I had to steady myself as I teetered on the edge. Shadows raced past me in a blur of rushing wind as my eyes focused on my one, single target. Without a second of hesitation, I throw myself off the rock, plummeting to the ground. I twist my body just in time to land on the ground on my legs, tumbling for a little while down a hill.
When I come to a stop at last, I briefly shake my head to clear my mind as well as my hair, spitting out bitter grains of sand from my already parched mouth that left the taste of ash and death on my prickling tongue. The use of my nymph abilities has left me tired and weak, but I urge myself to press on. I had already gotten this far; I'm not about to give up now that I'm so close to the end.
I dart in the direction that I had seen my mother, and in no time, I managed to catch up. The man was immensely slowed down due to having a struggling woman on his back. A smile tugged at the corners of my lips as I see my mother kick, punch, and even biting her captor anywhere she could reach, forcing him to falter in his steps every now and then. That's my mother: always fighting till the end.
With my last remaining strength, I use my broken right hand to grasp onto the man's tunic, ignoring the white, blazing pain that raced through my arm. I haul myself upwards, dangling from the man's back. His shaking steps tossed me left and right, causing my arm to flare as if thousands of thick, bronzed needles had been shoved forcibly into my hand. The pain brought tears to my eyes, and it must have been through some miracle that I managed to hold on. I forced my head to clear away the fog of unbelievable torture long enough for me to raise my left arm and, tightening my grip on the stolen dagger still in my hand, I thrust the blade straight into the man's back.
My mother's captor released a painful howl and dropped down to the ground in a heap right on top of me. I was completely buried under his massive weight, and didn't have the energy anymore to even care. My mother, who had been facing the other way and didn't see me, had freed herself and ran off, still screaming my name, searching endlessly for me.
I tried to force myself to call out to her, but I had to struggle to even breath. I had the man's entire weight crushing my chest, preventing me from taking in the much-needed air into my lungs. Warm, sticky fluid was dripping from my hands, which still clutched at the hilt of the dagger. I peeked over the broad shoulder and saw rushing feet going to and froe, not caring one little bit about anyone else. And then, I started to laugh. I laughed at the absolutely absurdity of it all. Imagine! All this from the love andloyalty between two adulterers! And yet, where were they now? Hiding behind the safe walls of the palace? What are they doing? Are they dining? Laughing? That's ridiculous! I imagined them, sitting at the wooden table in the grand hall, making a toast to their love, starring into each other's eyes, whispering words of affection and swearing vows of devotion while this calamity surrounded them on all four sides, yet they are still blissfully unaware of everything except each other. Do real people actually do this? I wonder if their love is a gift from the Gods or a gift from the hallucination plant!
I have stopped laughing, and my thoughts drift to my mother. I will miss her. She wasn't the best mother in the world. She had her faults. We had argued from time to time, we are human, after all. But, how could I ask for anything more? She always tried to be so strong for me, never wanting to let me see how much pain she suffered all of the time. Perhaps she thought that I was the one in need of comfort, and therefore didn't need to have her sadness on my shoulders as well. That was foolish of her to do that. She always took care of me, so why couldn't I take care of her for a little while? A wave of grief washes through me, and I don't even try to hold in the teardrops that slide out from the corner of my eyes. Now, I won't be able to repay her for all that she has done for me. I won't get the chance. Unless the Gods up there love me—which is very unlikely considering all that has happened—I'll most likely die here. Now, I'll never finish learning all the diseases that man in this part of the world has ever contracted and the herbs to cure them. Now, I'll never finish arguing with her about whether Neleus is a senile old fool whose new method of treating back pains by adding more pains to certain parts is a stupid idea. Now, I'll never… I'll never see her again. She may have been foolish for wishing to see Paris again that she dragged us both here even though we both knew that it was dangerous, being so close to the thick of the action, but…I still love her, all the same. She stayed with me, when my father didn't. She still loved me, while my father rejected me. She wouldn't abandon me, and I never abandoned her in return. At least if I die, I can repay her back just a little of all that she's given me.
Keeping my eyes open was such a hardship now. Shadowed fingers lingered on the edge of my vision, slowly creeping more and more towards the center, leaving a shroud of pure black in their wake. I am afraid to let the shadows take me, for I am human, and I fear what I do not know. Would I be stuck on the other side of the River Styx for all eternity? To be doomed to wonder aimlessly about on the black soil, always so close and yet so far away from paradise? Still, the shadows stalk closer and closer over me, and no matter how forcibly I fight it, darkness soon claims me.