by Lizzy Ford
With the fire trickling to life, I stood.
“Are you sure?” Menelaus asked. His head rested on the back of the couch, and his eyes were closed.
“Am I sure about what?”
“That what you seek isn’t here?”
“I dived into the sea several times. You were right. The sea floor has been swept clean by storms.” I gazed out the window, watching the sun start to sink beneath the horizon. “I was sent on a fool’s errand.” I wasn’t surprised a goddess duped me – but I was angry. When next we met, I would have nothing nice to say to Artemis. If I caught her possessing a human, I was going to end this madness with a blow to the throat.
“Maybe you weren’t looking for the right thing,” Menelaus suggested. “Maybe it’s not a stone plaque you seek.”
“Or maybe it doesn’t exist, and a certain goddess will have much to atone for when we meet again.”
“In all my years, I’ve never trusted a god,” he agreed. “You are too quick to surrender, if you want to defy this goddess.”
My eyebrows lifted. In SISA, most men wouldn’t risk looking at me, let alone dare rebuke me. My reputation was well earned, if exaggerated, as were most urban legends.
As soon as my ire rose, it deflated when I observed Menelaus’ old, crippled form. He spoke his thoughts with blunt candidness. Only two other people in four thousand years had done this with me. One was Lantos, and the other Alessandra, whose face I saw often enough in my thoughts, I believed something was very wrong, or would be soon.
“Maybe you should look harder,” Menelaus added. His eyes were chocolate colored again. His voice drifted off at the end as he fell into the kind of blissful sleep only the old and weary enjoyed.
“Maybe I should,” I replied. I checked the fire and draped a blanket over him before leaving the cottage.
The fire of transformation flowed through me. I removed my clothing and folded it neatly, then closed my eyes as the sun began to sink beneath the horizon. Before the last rays of Hesperides had died out, I was in my grotesque form, circling the house as I did every night to ensure no thieves or other threats were close to the sleeping Menelaus.
When I was satisfied he was safe, I soared into the air, did a quick flip to warm up my body, and then tucked my wings and dived downward, into the waters off shore.
I had explored every inch of the sandy sea floor for a hundred yards in each direction without finding one trace of any artifact. The sand was swept clear of debris. Using my wings and legs to propel me forward, I went over a familiar stretch, where I was able to identify the old shoreline by the depth changes.
Nothing here. Nothing there. Nothing anywhere. When I came up for air a short time later, I flung out my wings and floated on my back, eyes on the stars and half moon above. The water was cool, and the sound of the tide rocking back and forth soothed nerves that were starting to feel frayed.
In the long days I’d been here, caring for Menelaus, I’d had too much time to think.
I had been trying unsuccessfully to understand the mind of Artemis since discovering the purpose behind my journey didn’t exist. Did she want me away from DC? Did she have a secondary plan in mind for me that required me to be here?
If so, why tell me I needed to learn who I had been? What would a name matter? Albeit curious, I wouldn’t waste my time or endanger Alessandra or others with a fanciful, selfish journey across the world to learn my name.
Except I did. One word. That was all it really was. Yet this word held immense power over me, as much as the name Alessandra did, as much as the curse that turned me into a monster each night. I struggled to understand how I had changed so quickly, from the butcher Lantos needed me to be to someone who traveled so far for one word.
My mind was my own for the first time since I was seventeen, and it was an unfamiliar place. What bothered me the most was not that I didn’t know my name, but that I wanted to.
The image of Alessandra was in my mind again, never fully gone. She was beautiful, but it was her spirit that had captured my attention long before I understood our connection. She was alive in a world where I had become numb to everyone and everything.
When I thought of her, I was torn by conflicting instincts from my two sides. The first was that of the butcher Adonis, who saw her, wanted her and would have done whatever he had to in order to break her and control her, as he did everyone else, so she would become a fixture in his life for as long as he wanted her to be there. Adonis would not have been kind, had Lantos not ordered him to treat her differently from the beginning, when we lured her to my compound in DC.
The second was Mismatch, the primal instincts of a beast parading as a man, who remembered her kindness and was fascinated by her strength and heart. Mismatch recalled the first breath he took after four thousand years frozen as a statue and knew he had her to be grateful for his release from eternity in stone. He would never hurt her and certainly never break her. He would watch over her as he had the temple of Artemis. He would stand by her side, if she asked it, or keep his distance, if that was her preference.
I was stuck somewhere between the two parts of my psyche, neither fully one nor the other, no matter what form I was in, and not trusting myself around Alessandra, because of the discord within me. Adonis wanted to possess. Mismatch wanted to protect. Adonis would hurt her to satisfy his interest and need. Mismatch would rather die than harm her.
Did I come across the world for my purpose, or to protect Alessandra from what I was, because I didn’t know what I would do to her? Was I a conqueror and butcher, or a protector and guardian? How was it possible to be both?
In the dark night, floating in the sea I used to rule, I had never felt more disconnected from who I was. It was unlike either of my sides not to know. I had learned nothing this journey, except that I was confused, and I doubted I needed to travel six thousand kilometers to figure that out.
An unfamiliar scent reached me across the waters, and I shifted off my back, head tilted and senses alert. Without waiting to find it with my eyes, I launched into the air. Droplets of the sea rained down from my wings as I climbed upward to reach a height where I could see the bay and cottage clearly.
The scent came from the direction of the cottage. Seconds later, a flurry of wings, and a dark body far too large to be that of a bird, shot into the air. It disappeared behind one of the few clouds visible.
Intrigued, I soared upward, chasing the elusive scent and creature. Reaching the cloud, I paused. The scent was gone, and so was the form. I circled and dived through the cloud then twisted in midair and began flying in large circles around the bay area, seeking the strange creature while keeping an eye on the cottage to ensure no one attacked Menelaus in his sleep.
Twice more, I glimpsed the creature playing in the clouds and pursued it. Twice more, it vanished before I was close enough to identify what it was.
I didn’t spot it a third time. At long last, my hunger lured me into a different kind of hunt, and I left the bay to kill a wild deer for dinner. When I returned, it was close to dawn, and the creature was nowhere in sight.
Landing near the cottage, I caught the faint scent once more and whirled. No creature broke the peace and quiet of my surroundings – but I sensed it was close. Treading forward silently, I kept my eyes trained just beyond the cottage as the first rays of morning pierced the horizon.
My body changed, and I shook off the fiery pain of the transformation, determined to find out what was stalking me.
As I rounded the corner of the cottage, I stopped.
Menelaus was hunched over near the back entrance, his elderly frame naked.
Surprise shot through me, along with angry realization.
Artemis hadn’t sent me here to find a plaque or my name. She sent me here to find him.
I stood in silence, observing him as he seemed to have trouble catching his breath. Returning to the front of the cabin, I snatched my clothing and dressed in jerky movements then returned to the bac
kside of the cabin.
Menelaus had managed to pull on his oversized shirt but was struggling with his pants, since his knee inhibited most of his lower body’s range of motion.
“Did you plan on telling me?” I asked calmly and knelt. I helped him carefully, as I had been doing for the past week or so.
He chuckled without otherwise responding.
Bending, I scooped him up and walked him back into the house, setting him down on the couch. His features were drawn, and circles lined the skin beneath his eyes, which were dark again.
Uncertain whether I was angrier with him or Artemis for deceiving me – for it was not coincidence she had sent me here – I said nothing and poured him a glass of water. Returning to the living area, I sat down across from him and waited with a predator’s patience.
“I can fly easier than walk,” he said. “Last night was my first flight since I hurt my knee.”
“Did you plan on telling me?” I repeated in a low, controlled tone.
“Not at first,” he replied. “If you had come and not been kind to me, I was going to let you wonder the rest of your life why your goddess sent you here.”
I stood, edgy and angry, and paced a short distance away to keep from saying or doing something I wouldn’t regret – but knew to be foolish anyway.
“But here we are,” Menelaus said. He shifted his weight with a grunt.
“Who are you? Really?” I asked.
“Menelaus.”
I turned and studied him.
“Not named for him,” he answered my silent question. “The original.”
“How is that possible?”
“How are you possible?” he countered.
Before this moment, I had never considered there might be another living grotesque anywhere in the world.
“Sit down, and I will tell you what you need to know,” he said.
I debated leaving, suspecting Artemis and the ancient Spartan king before me were conspiring, and I wasn’t going to be pleased by the reasons behind their deception. I was too shocked to find another monster like me and too intrigued to walk away. I did as he said and sat.
“You’re the Menelaus who lost Helen to the Trojans and started the Trojan War,” I said.
“The Trojans started it,” he corrected me. “I am he. The Bloodline – our Bloodline – extended down through the Mycenaean kings of that time period, as you well know.” He displayed his wrist, which bore an identical mark to mine, the hereditary sign of the omega.
“But you aren’t a temple guardian.” I shifted forward, anxious to hear his tale. “I thought all of the rulers in our Bloodline were turned to stone and forced to watch over the temples.”
“Our history is a little more complicated,” he said with a patient smile. “At first, this curse didn’t exist. We made a pact with the gods and goddesses to protect them when we all arrived ten thousand years ago. Our kind stood as watchful, living guardians during the day, and when Nyx swept across the sky, we turned into our beast forms and left for food before returning to our posts. The gods respected and favored us above all others. We –”
“Stop there,” I interjected. “I don’t understand. We transform into monsters. Was this not the curse of the Bloodline?”
“What did you think, that we were humans who became monsters?” Menelaus laughed hoarsely. “It was passed down through oral tradition that our kind were created when Apollo brought his favorite guardian beasts with him across the bridge between our worlds ten thousand years ago. He combined our ancestors with humans to create the perfect protector who was more suited to this world and could blend in, at least for half the day. But in changing us, Apollo removed our savage, beastly ways and gave us independent thought, which I imagine he’s regretted since that day.” He laughed again. “In any case, we protected him and the other gods there, in our original home, and again here. We were never of this world and certainly never human. Not fully. We’ve always been monsters. This much I know.”
“The gods didn’t curse us into becoming monsters, because we were already monsters?” I asked in disbelief. “We are born monsters.”
“Yes.” He was quiet, allowing me to absorb this stunning truth.
“Then what is the curse?” I asked when I’d recovered from my surprise. “Being turned to stone?”
His eyes turned light brown as I watched. Menelaus shifted to make himself more comfortable, took a sip of water, and continued. “The traditional role we enjoyed as protectors with free will ended during a time period too old for either of us to have witnessed. Perhaps eight thousand years ago? Oral tradition doesn’t specify the point in antiquity when our favored position with Apollo changed. One of our ancestors broke the sacred pact we had to guard the gods in this world and in doing so, angered Apollo. Apollo condemned the Bloodline to stone as punishment. This period was known as the first Dark Ages, which has been forgotten by modern human history.”
“I hate the gods,” I muttered. “This happened before both of us were born. Why are you not a stone guardian?”
“Because Apollo wished to punish me.”
My head was swimming with questions as I listened. Menelaus paused, but my thoughts were racing too quickly for me to know what to ask first.
“Sacking Troy brought the second curse of Apollo upon our bloodline and also brought about the second Dark Ages, where gods fought one another.” Menelaus shook his head. “Troy was his prized possession, a city of beauty, light, and wealth. It was said he helped build the walls with his own hands. You can imagine, when my brother and I sacked it, Apollo became furious. I won’t tell you what Agamemnon did to Apollo’s temples, but our Bloodline has not been forgiven to this day for his actions.” Menelaus grinned.
“He’d already condemned us all to stone. What else could he possibly do to punish us?” I demanded acidly.
“The second curse of Apollo upon the Bloodline forced us to serve him, without question, whenever he called upon us. He stripped away what remained of our free will,” Menelaus answered. “My brother’s punishment for Troy was to become a temple guardian for Apollo and prevent anyone else from doing to Apollo’s holy places what Agamemnon did to the temples of Troy.”
“The second curse sounds far less damning than the first,” I said. “The Crown doesn’t appear to favor Apollo now.”
“Until he calls upon a member of the Bloodline to do what he commands. We are compelled to obey.”
Of all the horrific curses I had heard of, originating from angry gods and goddesses, this combination of curses was potentially the worst. There was no greater curse than to steal one’s life and also replace free will with divine commands. If I dwelt on how shady, evil, backhanded and horrific this one-two curse punch really was, I’d explode. I focused instead on the history Menelaus was relating.
“Agamemnon was a successor of mine,” I said.
“The bloodline continued through his union with Cassandra, the Oracle of Troy. Cassandra bore him twins. Both were said to have died, but one lived.”
Nowhere in history was it recorded that the Bloodline members turned to stone.
How many disappearances of Bloodline rulers had been explained away as tragic deaths to hide the truth of what happened to the rulers of Greece, once the curse took hold of them? I had never thought to inquire into how the disappearance of Phoibe’s mother was handled in an era where smart phones and the Internet prevented major government conspiracies from propagating.
Menelaus continued talking. “Apollo banished the Bloodline from power for many years after Troy. The Bloodline went underground for several generations and was nearly lost during the Dark Ages. It reemerged quietly when a member of the Bloodline married another Mycenaean princess, and our family rose again to power, only to fade away from the historical records when the Mycenaean civilization collapsed and the Dorians invaded. We regained power by marrying into an ailing Spartan dynasty, with the permission of Apollo.”
As I listened, I realized how di
fferently historians had recorded the events that the man before me lived through.
Menelaus’ eyes returned to their dark brown color. “Even when Apollo was furious with us, we were always favored by the gods. If our ancestors weren’t in a position to rule, they were well taken care of,” he said.
I disagreed silently. “Are there others like you?” I asked.
“To my knowledge, no. Agamemnon and I were twins. Those in the Bloodline normally birth one child and then disappear, as long as the Fates believe the child will survive,” he said. “I don’t think Apollo wanted me in stone, anyway. He wanted me to see my world change and collapse, over and over, and to witness how my actions had caused the Bloodline to do his bidding. Gods love vengeance.”
I understood this too well.
“You are not supposed to be like you are. Did Apollo awaken you?” Menelaus asked.
“No.” I was too interested in his story to explain mine. “Did you know of my family?”
“How old are you?”
“Four millennia.”
He considered. “I might have their names recorded. I kept track of those members of the Bloodline who came after me and researched those who came before me. The records are incomplete. It was difficult to find the names of our Bloodline before my time.”
“I remember my father’s name and that of my grandfather.”
“And your mother and grandmother?” he asked.
“The Bloodline passed through my father and grandfather. I had no need to know my mother’s name. She and my father died soon after I was born.” My heart began to beat harder. “I came here to find a plaque with a name written on it. My name.”
“That’s why you’re here?” Menelaus’ brow furrowed.
“Yes.”
“Artemis sent you to me, so I might tell you your name?” He appeared puzzled. “What could be so important about it that you obeyed her?”
“She called in an oath,” I replied. “But … it was more than that. I want to know. If I can remember everything about the past four thousand years, except my name, then isn’t it important to find out why I’ve forgotten it?”