Alexis of Sparta (Book II) - Unedited, first draft*

κη′ - Eíkosiochto

Twenty-Eight

The Aegean was as stunning and clear as the day the Trojan convoy set sail for Sparta. If only the sky was as reassuring. The unrelenting sun that bore down on us for weeks had finally disappeared behind a solid, gray curtain. The temperature dipped and I heard subdued grumblings from the men that they worried the weather would not work in their favour.

For the most part, I was left alone. A few of the Myrmidons curiously glanced my way, but they kept their distance. Some regarded me with caution, as if I were an omen, though whether a good one or bad, they couldn't yet tell. I knew they all wondered why I was joining them on the voyage, though none dared ask Achilles or Patroclus outright.

I stared at the calm waters and silently hoped that the sea remained a mirror as the Myrmidons loaded the vast ships Peleus provided. I hoped the sea wouldn't shatter while we sailed. I hoped Poseidon wasn't waiting under the glossy surface with his sea serpent for me. The gods had all but kept their distance save Artemis. My luck couldn't hold forever.

A raven circled one of the ships, crying out with its mischievous caw. I watched it loops around the masts in such a neat ironic form. A cyclical journey. I'd started out in Troy, travelled to Greece in the hopes of returning home and now I'm going back to the place where it all began. I rubbed the smooth shell of Dryope's acorn. The dagger Artemis gave me was cinched around my waist and I prayed I didn't need to use it. Not even against the hero who slaughtered my friend without batting an eye.

Thinking of Odysseus ignited the simmering flame of anger in my gut. I shoved the acorn into the neat fold in my dress before storming across the sandy beach, putting as much distance as possible between me and the men I was soon to be trapped on a ship with for the next few weeks.

I spent the week leading up to our departure training with Achilles. Bacchus was still missing, and I tried hard not to think that something terrible happened to him, but I think he would have been a more amicable trainer. Achilles was gruelling. Most nights I went to bed on wobbly knees and woke up with stiff muscles. Blisters formed and were only now starting to break into hardened calluses. I spent each night rubbing the palms of my hands with oil and aloe vera in the hopes of easing the burning throb each time I held the sword.

But, even after one week, I was better than when I'd started. Achilles might not have said as such, but every time I parried with perfect form, I saw the corners of his lips twitch.

He didn't know why I was so determined to fight, but it was Odysseus' face I focused on. It was the hero's sword, dripping with Zoisme's blood, that I saw with each strike. The Greek hero might be regarded as calm, calculating and intelligent, but to me, he was a murderer. He didn't even want to fight in the war, even going as far as feigning madness to avoid drafting.

Apparently, the Trojan convoy made impeccable time when they sailed to Sparta, for we were destined to take the longer route and meet up with the rest of the Greek army first. Weeks even, much to my dismay. The thought of encountering any other Greek hero caused the contents in my stomach to sour. Odysseus, the one person I thought would see reason and have a level head, turned out to be just as brutal as the rest of them. I was done having my hopes dashed each and every time.

I sighed and found a nearby boulder, just out of the way but still within sight of the Myrmidon army. I leaned my head against the rough, gray stone and closed my eyes. Survive the trip to Troy first. Figure out next steps after.

"Something is different about you," came a quip. That voice, so grating and familiar.

"I wonder what," I sighed, pushing away from the boulder. I look up to find Athena lounging above, her helmet gleaming despite the overcast sky, sagging with its weight of water. "What are you doing here? I thought you said you could no longer get involved with me."