Acula

by Robert D. Armstrong

  Truth was, the voices were barely noticeable. I was exaggerating, but I truly didn’t want to live any longer. Not like this. I was a risk to everyone around me, including Father.

  “Acula. Do you remember what I told you, about the similarities between making a sword and a man?”

  “But I’m cursed, Father. Cursed by Hades and the underworld. The witch said it herself,” I mumbled.

  “Yet you still have choice. Demons have more than one form. Yes, your demons are plain to see, but we all have them. Some are invisible. Slow killers.”

  “Like what?”

  “Sadness, for one. I once knew a man that was crippled by it. He wasn’t capable of taking care of himself. Most people said he would die from sorrow…he lived, but became hostile to everyone he knew for a time.”

  “What happened to him?” I asked.

  “…he learned to warm his fire. Remember, your desire to rid evil must burn inside you,” Father said, wiping off his shield.

  “But that was a man. He does not desire blood from another,” I said.

  “Monsters come in many forms, fangs or not. Every man has the potential to be evil. The reason that witch’s daughter is still alive is because you are not a monster. You’re my son. Your mother’s son. A product of our love. I raised you with this love in mind to respect all men and live by the Spartan code, best I could. Now, have I failed you?” Father said.

  He turned his back on me and walked several paces toward the far end of the clearing. I felt the moon bearing witness to our exchange.

  “…no, but I failed you,” I said, slumping my head.

  “What?” he asked, tilting his head.

  “I heard about Leonidas…I was told by a slave that the king called for you to fight at Thermopylae…I denied you. I denied you a Spartan’s death with your king,” I said.

  Father was silent for a beat before speaking in a measured tone. It seemed as if he’d practiced this a hundred times, though I had not heard the words even once before.

  “He did ask for me…he sent word with a message boy who almost died running to our village. I left at once…” he said.

  “So the message came too late? You never saw the battle?” I asked.

  Father paused for a few moments. “I arrived in time. I saw Leonidas and his men just before the battle, putting oils on their skin so their bodies would be preserved for transport back home.”

  “They knew they were going to die,” I said.

  “They knew, as did I. They were outnumbered by far too many.”

  “Why didn’t you go to them, Father?” I asked. I knew he was no coward. Father turned around slowly, kneeling in front of me. His eyes began to water as he turned his shield in front of me. He ran his fingers across the tattered bronze shield, skimming the lines of red griffin.

  “This shield…this shield was made out of a promise…a promise not to honor a Spartan’s death, but to honor a life, our family, I made it after your mother passed,” he said, dropping his head.

  “Father…”

  “Do you know…you know w-what the Greek griffin represents?” he asked me. If he had practiced telling me this a hundred times, it was nothing compared to laying everything bare out loud, and he had trouble finding his words.

  “…power?” I said, observing its majestic lines and ferocious features.

  “The griffin represents a guardian, a guardian that protects a priceless treasure, more valuable than the honor to die with a king,” he said, embracing me. I began to weep as he clutched me tightly. Gone was the lust for blood, the worry of things to come; the power of my father’s words gave me comfort and focus.

  My life would go on despite this disease, this blackness that was attempting to consume me. I would find a way to rid it from my body and soul. I would burn it away using the fire Father had instilled inside me.

  Chapter 4

  Homecoming

  “Father, it’s starting to look familiar!” I said, looking down at the road beneath me. I couldn’t contain my smile. Father laughed, observing my excitement.

  The landscape, while not dignified with the sunlight yet, was still as beautiful as I remembered.

  “Yes, it’s not much further now,” Father said.

  Far ahead, I noticed our village as we came over a hill. The road dipped back down and leveled out in the distance. Horse tracks rutted the path as we got closer. The village was surrounded by an expansive vista of wheat fields seamed together by a large forest on the outward edges. It was all visible thanks to the full moon. We could see the village tucked beneath several large trees, obscuring some of the houses at this distance.

  “Acula.”

  “What?”

  “Are we running the rest of the way? You’re leaving me behind,” he said.

  “Ha, ah no, I’m sorry, I just—”

  “It’s okay. But I can’t keep up; if you need to go, I’ll be there soon enough,” Father said.

  “No, no. I didn’t realize I was moving so fast,” I said. Something inside me allowed me to move quicker at night with little effort. My steps felt like air. Breathing the night air into my lungs felt like I was absorbing its darkness, converting it into power.

  I felt this power surging inside me, and I wanted to use it. The combination of being home and feeling this power admittedly thrilled me. I began to look around; I wanted to try something.

  About halfway between us and home, there was an old oak tree on the side of the road. Years ago, Father had told me the tree wasn’t indigenous to this area, yet somehow it survived. Lightning had struck it, splitting it in half. One long branch stemmed off it, stretching over the road, while another branch lay dead beneath it.

  As we grew closer to it, I began looking up at it. The branch must have been three times the height of a man.

  “Ah, you remember that old oak, do you?” Father asked.

  “Of course,” I said. I began running towards it.

  “Acula, wait…” Before Father could finish, I effortlessly leaped up into the air, landing softly on the branch like a cat.

  “Wo-aaaaaa!” I yelled, balancing on the branch. I looked back down; I couldn’t believe I just jumped that high!

  “By the gods, A-Acula, get down from there!” Father said with his eyes wide. He dropped his shield but quickly scooped it back up. I could hear excitement and disbelief in his voice.

  “Why?” I asked.

  “Well, what if you fall?” he replied. I looked down at him. He shrugged his shoulders. “Just come down. What if someone from the village sees you?”

  “At this hour? No one is awake.” I said. I noticed the dead branch lying below me that had been struck by the storm years ago. I remembered jumping atop it when we left for the market a year ago.

  “Father, do you remember what you told me about this oak, after the storm?” I said, still standing on the branch as it swayed back and forth.

  “Ahh…refresh my memory?”

  “You said the oak was stronger now. You said the bolt of lightning had shed away the weak portion of the trunk.”

  “Yes, yes, I remember. Also the wind is less likely to take the whole tree. Now get down, but be careful,” he said. I stepped off the branch, dropping down on the dead branch. I knew my body could absorb the fall; the impact barely bent my knees.

  “Acula, we must be careful. I know it’s late, but we can’t risk someone—”

  “—seeing what I am?”

  “…well…you know how your uncle is. Let’s just not take any chances until we find a remedy for this…”

  “Power?” I finished.

  “Yes, power. Let’s see your power when the sun comes up.” Father cut his eyes at me.

  As we grew closer, I noticed the grass had grown up wildly in places. Some of the mud brick houses had collapsed under their own weight.

  But then I saw it. “Look, Father…it…it’s…still here,” I said.

  I fell to my knees, scooping up some dust from the road. I smelle
d it, then rubbed it between my hands, letting it grind into the grooves of my palms. I began to weep.

  Father ran over to me, embracing me. Many days, I’d thought we would die without seeing home again.

  “Father…the Greeks back in the slave camps…some of them will never have this moment.”

  “Pray to the gods their souls can rest, Acula. We will never forget them,” he said. Father stood up, pulling me up by the wrist.

  I followed Father to our home. We walked past Uncle Icar’s home; a fire from earlier in the evening was still smoldering.

  “Well it looks like he’s still here,” I said.

  “Someone is,” Father examined, hunkering low. “Let’s play it safe and pretend someone has taken over our village. It’s been a while, and anything can happen during a war.”

  “No, it’s Uncle Icar,” I confirmed. Father snapped his head over at me.

  “How can you tell?”

  “…somehow I know it’s him. The scent, I don’t know, it’s strange,” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. It was just as familiar as the smell after a hard rain. I knew what it was.

  Father stopped, peering around the corner. He glanced back at me and nodded. “You know, if you had said that before I saw your skin catch on fire or watched you jump halfway up an oak tree, I might have had trouble believing you.”

  “I’m pleased that my descent into the underworld has bolstered your confidence in my word,” I whispered, grinning from ear to ear. Father slowly turned his head towards me.

  “Hey. I don’t find that funny,” he said, thumping me in the chest with the palm of his hand. I gathered his intention was for the blow to be firm, but it did nothing. I slumped my head in submission nonetheless.

  “…sorry, Father.”

  “Come on,” he said, signaling me towards our home.

  We walked into the side yard of our house. The outside was unkempt a bit; several vines had grown up around the corners. Part of the yard was being used as storage. Several wagons were littered about, and a handful of goats grazed or dozed listlessly wherever they pleased.

  As we walked through the yard, the goats seemed to grow particularly aware of my presence. Father was several paces ahead of me, yet they didn’t even notice him. However, when I got close to them, they scattered. Father stopped in his tracks, glancing at them, then back at me. I shrugged my shoulders. “I have no words. Why?”

  “Maybe the same way you knew your uncle is still here. Your scent is different. Let us hope your uncle’s scent is not as acute.”

  Father opened the door slowly as we creeped into our home. I looked around and to my surprise, much was the same.

  “Uncle Icar has put in some effort. Most of my custom armor is still here, too,” Father said.

  “He knew we would return,” I said.

  “I’m sure he hoped so.”

  I walked to the middle room, looking up the stairs. The open ceiling gave way to the moonlight. “I’ll need to be careful in the morning,” I said, pointing up.

  “Indeed. Stay in your room during the day.”

  “So should we wake up everyone?” I asked, bouncing on up and down on my toes. Father knocked over a shield leaning against the wall, and it loudly clanked against a row swords, knocking them over. It was dark. Even though I could see, he could not. Father froze, looking around. I starting laughing.

  “I already did,” he said with smirk. We could hear people moving around.

  “Sound the alarm!” I heard someone call out in distance with a thunderous voice.

  “Icar must have already been awake,” Father said, and then ran outside into the street waving his arms. “No, no, we’ve returned!” he shouted for all to hear. “Preturias and Acula, we’re home!”

  I stayed inside, thinking about how they would view my new form. I thought of my life here with this corruption. If, by chance, the old mystic couldn’t cure me, then what? It was difficult to imagine a life here with my condition.

  “Preturias?! Acula?! My prayers to Apollo! Thank you! Thank the gods!” said the thunderous voice again—Uncle Icar. I could hear emotion in his voice. “Thank you so m-much!” I heard him weeping. Then several others calling out our names.

  “They’ve returned!”

  I walked outside. Father was holding out his arm, waving for me to come to him. He was smiling. I heard a door fling open. “We’re over here!” Father shouted.

  Icar rounded the corner of his house, stopping in his tracks, smiling. His soft, dark eyes and rosy cheeks appeared almost childlike and out of place compared to the rest of his masculine appearance. He was a large, imposing man like Father, with thick, curly hair, but while Father’s chin was smooth now save for some stubble, Uncle Icar boasted a huge black beard. He was an emotional man, but powerful, both physically and mentally. Similar to Father, Icar had conviction and passion in his beliefs and family, but he was a bit more expressive about it at times.

  Icar ran, bumping into us. He grabbed us both with his long arms and embraced us. I felt like a bear from the hills had attacked us with love. He was crying. “S-So long, I’ve waited…my brother, my baby brother…ahh, my Acula, my blood, by Apollo’s grace!”

  “It’s good to see you, big brother. We’ve missed you,” Father said, crying. We stood there in between our house and Icar’s, embracing each other for several moments. It felt so good to be where we belonged, where we were loved.

  “You’ve lost weight!” Icar said, wide-eyed, examining Father. “But you gave it to Acula, my God! The boy has grown into Hercules himself! Just look at him!”

  “We worked many long days,” Father said.

  “Someone did all the work, it appears! You have much to tell me about your travels!” Icar said. “We must sacrifice in Apollo’s honor! Dion!” Icar called out to his son, my first cousin. He ran around the corner. He must have grown a head taller since the last time I saw him.

  “Hi, Acula! Uncle!” he said, rubbing his eyes. He looked every bit a mischievous as I remembered. His smile always hooked up on one side of his mouth.

  “Hey, Dion!” I said.

  “Dion, slaughter a goat. We are having a feast, a king’s breakfast in honor of Apollo’s answer to our prayers.”

  “How’s Zella? Still sleeping, I assume?” Father asked.

  Icar’s face changed; his smile flattened out, and then he raised his eyebrows. I looked into the sky, pausing for a moment. “Uncle Icar?” I called out, frightened by his behavior.

  “Ahhh. About a month ago, she fell and hurt herself. She’s…she’s been bedridden, and now she’s come down with a fever.” Icar looked into the distance. “But you are a good omen. Apollo smiles on our family, and he will answer my prayers again,” Icar said, looking into the heavens. His eyelid quivered as he held his stare for a moment.

  “Come on,” he said after a long moment, regaining his joviality, “seeing you two will brighten her spirits!” Icar waved us into his home.

  Dion crossed paths as we came inside; he was holding a short sword. He stopped, looking towards the goats—or rather, the now empty plot where they had been minutes ago. “We did they go?” Dion asked. I kept quiet, quickly walking into the house.

  “Zella?” Icar called out.

  “Ayy, y-yes,” Zella responded. She didn’t sound like she used to; she reminded me of an old woman. Icar opened her door. “W-What is all the noise?” she asked. Icar presented us with his outstretched arm as we walked past him.

  “By the gods…t-they answered us! Ohhh, my men! Look at them!” she said, leaning up slowly in the bed. Father and I walked over to her. He embraced her, and then I did as well. “You filled out,” she said, examining me at arm’s length. She kept shaking her head, almost in disbelief.

  My stomach sunk when I saw her. She appeared older, more frail, what was only a year past seemed to have been many more. Her long brown hair had thinned; her small, feminine facial features seemed to drupe on her left side, along with more wrinkles throughout. Co
ntrasting her sickly appearance, I had never seen her so happy.

  She seemed to be sweating. I walked outside and grabbed my uncle’s shield. I began fanning her with it to cool her down.

  “Icar told you I fell?” she asked, raising her eyebrows.

  “Yes, Aunt Zella,” I replied.

  “Well when it happened, I was—”

  “—Zella, save your strength my love,” Icar said.

  “Hey. Now, listen, I will tell them!” she scolded, pointing at Icar, squinting her green eyes, they appeared to have lost some of their color in our absence. “You tell me to save my strength, when I’ve prayed about these two every day for over a year!”

  “Ahhh. Fine, fine, tell the damned story, woman.” Icar nodded, rolling his eyes and smiling.

  “Well, well, not much has changed, has it?” Father smirked as everyone erupted into laughter. Icar braced himself against the wall as he regained his composure. My upper lip snarled up, this time, with a smile. I caught myself forgetting what had happened to me for a moment. It reminded me of a sprained ankle I’d had years ago. While resting, I’d forget about the injury, only to recall it with blinding agony when I stood up in a hurry.

  “Listen, I was at your house, actually, upstairs, cleaning one of the rooms. I always knew you two would be back, so I wanted it to clean. Anyway, I thought I heard thunder or war parties in the distance. Maybe those damned Persians, I don’t know. Ugh. Boils my blood thinking about them. Anyway, I came out to the open balcony, then…that was it. I woke up at the bottom of the steps with Icar yelling at me to wake up.”

  “You hurt your leg?” I asked, sitting down on the bed. I held her hand as she told us the story.

  “My hip. Then my face was sagging on the left side and my left arm wouldn’t move. After several days, I got some control back, but I’m not sure what happened, I just blacked out,” she said.

  “Father!” Dion yelled from outside.