by Harley James
Fifty.
His eyes closed on a slow blink. Sophia’s skin reacted violently, breaking out into gooseflesh all over her body. She whispered hoarsely past the painful knot in her throat. “Zeus. Please have mercy on Sparta’s finest warrior.”
Alexios’ eyes widened as though he’d heard her moment of weakness.
Hold the line.
The thought reverberated through her mind. She thought it was only that.
Until she felt something at her back. Not a touch, but mayhap a press of air. It even stirred her hair.
Someone stepped forward and came into her peripheral view. An unusually tall figure in a black, hooded cloak. The stranger’s powerful aura radiated around him like he’d absorbed a lightning bolt. Even the sand rumbled at her feet. No one else seemed to notice.
Must be a traveling seer, maybe from Delphi.
She could feel the weight of the seer’s stare upon her, but she would not look away from Alexios. The whistle of the reed cut through the air. She flinched as though it had landed upon her own skin.
“Hold the line.” The seer’s bass voice drifted over to her, reverberating in her chest. His voice was strong, captivating…alarming. Still, no one noticed. And as much as she wanted to look into the seer’s eyes, she could not—would not—break her connection with Alexios.
“‘Hold the line’ is what the soldiers of your city repeat as they face their foes,” the seer continued. “One sliver in the line can splinter the entire phalanx. Do not be the sliver that breaks the man. He has a destiny to fulfill, but only if he chooses it. You are his weakness. And his greatest strength.”
Sophia shook her head. “Look at him. How can you say he is weak when he is enduring so honorably?”
“If you believe he can bear no more, he will believe you have lost faith in him. That would be the beginning of the end. Have a care, lady. Your path will be hard.”
Surely, it was the truth, for it was certainly the Spartan way.
He who endures is the better man.
She could see the stoic beauty in it, but the reality was so often barbaric.
Sixty. The number of lashes he’d survived during the contest of endurance. Please be over, please be over, pleasebeover.
“When will it be over?” she rasped.
When no answer came, she angled her body to bring a greater area into her peripheral view. But the seer was gone. At least as far as she could tell without breaking eye contact with Alexios.
How had he moved away so fast in this crowd? Surely he would stand out being a head taller than most men. But it was as though he’d never been. Like she’d imagined the whole exchange. As the next lash came down, she mouthed, I believe in you.
Alexios’s eyes widened in a flush of fear or anger, she knew not which, his mouth opening on a shout. “Sophia!”
He lunged forward, sand sailing in his wake as the lash drew down again, sending him to his knees. He struggled to his feet again, pointing to her. No, not at her.
Over her shoulder?
“Sophie, run!” His hoarse bellow startled her into awareness of her surroundings.
She swung around, stumbling into a helot man to her left as a glint of silver lanced the air where her head had been. She gasped, her legs trembling, her mind abuzz.
Someone was trying to kill her?
Her pulse pounded, blood surging through her veins as she pushed off the cursing man she’d fallen into and ran toward Alexios. “Hurry, run with me to the palace!” she shouted, reaching for his hand.
But he thrust her into Niketas’s arms and moved into the path of the man who still gripped the eight-foot spear that had nearly impaled her.
The crowd parted in shock around Zenon. The Elder held the spear in an overhand, fighting stance, its iron, leaf-shaped tip now pointed at Alexios’ heart. Zenon was well into his fifties, but he was still well-toned and agile. His eyes were damp, but his leathery face contorted with hatred.
Alexios’ backside was as scarlet as his battle himation, blood sliding down his torso, buttocks, and legs to seep into the sand where he stood as human shield for her.
Sophia shook out of Niketas’s grasp and raced toward Zenon and Alexios. Niketas was immediately at her side. “Elder, stand down,” he commanded.
She could see the guards ringing around the councilman, waiting for her brother’s signal. “You will answer for your threat to the princess.”
Zenon screamed to the heavens and shook his spear at Alexios. Spittle flew from his lips as they twisted with anguish. “You! You murdered my son, bastard!”
Alexios’ shoulders fell.
The sight made Sophia weep inside. After all he’d just endured, to be brought low by this man’s accusation shook her more resoundingly than his flogging.
Ares, he needs you now.
Chapter 16
“Sophie get back!” Alexios barked at her, praying someone else would force the order upon her, for certainly she would not obey.
When he didn’t feel her at his side the next moment, he knew someone had. He exhaled heavily, watching every subtle movement of the older man’s body. With his out-of-body focus gone, his flayed back burned like living fire. But worse than that…remorse.
He’d killed this man’s son.
He stood as straight as his back would allow and spoke loudly for all the crowd to hear. “Zenon desires my living torment. He believes that cutting Sophia down would assure that.”
And he would be right.
The truth of it was not something he could hide from. Sophia with her messy, clumsy, unbridled zest for life had not quenched his need for vengeance, but rather, she’d incinerated it in a blazing flash of hope and love. She’d burned it down, and he’d risen from the ashes a different man. Flawed, still jaded, but hopefully a little better. At least, the desire to be better was there. That had to count for something.
“You murdered Hesperos,” Zenon repeated like a crow pecking its beak into the bloody mess of his back.
Alexios gritted his teeth against a wave of pain. “I wish I could go back to that day and change the handling of it.”
Zenon’s son had been abusing his helots, and Alexios had wanted to teach him a lesson. They’d fought in front of witnesses, and he’d killed Hesperos with a single blow to the head.
“You think that nice little speech redeems you? You, a low-born slave, bastard of a king, are nothing.”
If Zenon grew more agitated, perhaps he’d be able to lunge and grab the spear’s handle. It was only an arm’s length away.
A commotion drew his gaze toward the river. King Davos waded out of the river, his silver hair and garments dripping water into the greedy sand, his guard pushing people aside to clear a path toward Alexios’ side. Why? Davos had claimed him as his heir, but he’d never before gone out of his way to be near him in public.
A muscle jumped in Davos’ jaw when he spared a look at his son’s mutilated back. “Prince Alexios was cleared of the charges when the helots came forward with the rest of the story. Hesperos was beating and molesting those entrusted to his care. That was a crime against the state as helots belong to all of Sparta.”
Zenon turned on King Davos with a snarl. “Hesperos was imperfect like the rest of us. I would have made him make amends.”
He swung to Sparta’s other king, Niketas. “How can you let a bastard get away with killing a son of the aristocracy? I’ve waited for there to be some consequence, some justice for my son’s death. But it’s as if there is no fairness, no sense of pride in being Spartiate. Instead I hear whispers of revolution.” He curled his lip at Sophia. “Of equality!”
Getting no response from Niketas, he implored the crowd. “Is that what our proud city-state is coming to?”
“Zenon, let us come together to heal this division.” Sophia’s voice came from behind Alexios, wavering only slightly. He wanted to look back to assess her proximity, but dared not take his eyes from Zenon. “We can all come together in peace if we try,”
she continued. “I will work toward that with all my heart. But please, let me first tend to my husband’s wounds.”
The crowd swelled with murmurs at her marriage announcement, drowning out the rest of her words.
Alexios clenched his fists at his sides, trying to block a rush of lightheadedness. He needed to be focused. Ready. Sophia’s plea for healing and peace was not going to work. He could see it in Zenon’ eyes. He’d seen many such looks in the eyes of his enemies. A brokenness. Despair and hopelessness turned to rage.
He understood the language.
It would take him and Sophia years—decades perhaps—to bring change to Sparta. If ever.
But they would try.
“Zenon, what would you have me do?” Alexios asked quietly. His muscles began to shake, his gaze blurring with fatigue and heat. A swarm of flies buzzed around him, drawn by his blood.
“I would have your death, bastard,” Zenon breathed, edging closer.
“Lay down your spear, Elder,” Davos commanded.
“I cannot!”
Alexios caught a glimpse of Queen Theodora behind Zenon’s shoulder a moment before the Elder pitched forward, thrust violently from behind.
Sophie screamed as the tip of the spear drove through the left side of Alexios’s chest. Sinew ripped and a searing pain lacerated every nerve ending.
As he dropped, time slowed.
People’s mouths opening, eyes going wild, lurching toward him.
As he fell, a dagger soared through the air, its razor-sharp edge slicing his left cheek open from temple to mouth. Sand rushing up to meet his knees. Blood spurting. His life pouring out. A rich contrast to the golden granules of sand. As though through a great, echoing cavern, screams reached his ears. His name over and over.
The way she screamed. That sound.
Like something was being ripped from her soul.
Sophie, no.
Knees giving way, neck jarring as he sagged sideways, head bouncing with his body’s impact. He lay on his left side and blinked in slow motion as hands, a multitude of hands, hands everywhere grasped at him. He swung out with his right arm. Swung and connected, his blood spurting harder with each strike. His strength ebbing almost as fast as his walls had crumbled under Sophie’s tender assault.
No.
Who would protect her?
Let. Me. Live.
A gasp as he was rolled onto his back.
The long, dark line of the spear standing up from his flesh. No more sound. A vacuum with a longer stretch of darkness as he blinked again. The Greek sky blotted out by a ring of talking heads above him. Mouths moving, but the silence around him, deep and profound.
Eyelids heavier. More darkness.
Welcome relief from the fire inside.
Never give up.
Sophie.
Sand under his fingertips. Sand working its way inside his open back. Into his shredded cheek.
Fuck you, Gods. I am not…done.
Body heavy.
Hold the line, Spartan.
A voice unlike any he’d heard. Like it could echo through seven thousand paces of forest.
His eyes cracked open. Blue sky blinding. Bright light, hurt. Everything…hurt.
Amidst the talking heads, one stood taller.
A figure cloaked in black. The soldier in battle panoply by the Temple of Apollo.
Come, Spartan.
A great gust of wind, then a rush through fire.
Flames licking his skin, unmelting? Up through smoke as thick and noisy as an apocalyptic swarm of locusts. Down through a cold so complete he thought he’d shatter into a thousand shards as he landed next to the tall warrior who watched the commotion from the sidelines.
Watching everyone rush to save his life.
Surgeons arguing about whether or not to extract the spear. King Davos striking Queen Theodora who clutched two more daggers as she fell at his feet and spit upon his sandals.
And a keening. Sophie, rocking, his head and shoulders in her lap as her lips moved in supplication, her tears falling on his face, leaving macabre streaks through his bloody mask. He could feel the phantom tracks on the face of this strange, out of body awareness.
He stared at his dead eyes staring up at the sky.
Abomination.
On a tide of regret, his muscles quivered to spring to Sophie’s side. I’m here, I’m alive!
But his feet were rooted to the ground.
He swiveled to the figure who towered over him. “What is this? I do not wish to be a phantom. Let me return to her. She needs protection!”
“You must follow your destiny. Destiny is paved with choices, and your most important choice is before you this day.” The soldier’s voice was not overloud, but it made the stones at their feet tremble.
Alexios tossed his head, wanting to break this man in half. “I would never choose this! Are you Charon, come to take me to the river of pain?”
“I do not recognize this Charon you speak of. But your pain is a river of your own making,” the soldier replied.
Alexios’s gaze returned to where Sophie wept on the sand. How foolish he was to think pain and suffering would be over when his life on earth was vanquished.
The surgeons had backed away, their heads bowed. King Davos tore at his chiton, then ran to where the guards held the queen as she flung curses and insults at anyone her gaze fell upon.
The crowd hushed and grew still. Davos put his hands on his queen, shoved her to her knees, then accused her of treason and beheaded her with one brutal swing of his sword.
Alexios watched the head of his stepmother roll on the sand, then spoke to the soldier. “I cannot leave yet. I will not. You have the power to help me return, or else you wouldn’t be here.”
If only he could do it all over…
“You can’t go back to the same. But you can go forward with the light.”
At the soldier’s words, clouds gathered and swirled, darkening the sky. The crowd gasped and pointed at the sky, then looked back at his prone body. What was this?
“A sign!” a helot farmer yelled.
Alexios’s hand went to his chest, but he couldn’t feel a heartbeat. “Are you Zeus?”
The black-clad warrior laughed, the heavy leather of his breast plate quaking. Leaves rained down from the olive and plane trees. The birds flocked from all directions to settle upon the bare branches. Watching.
Waiting.
Citizens and helots alike fled toward their homes as though the wrath of all the gods were going to descend upon them.
The warrior shook his head as though amused by such fearful creatures. “I am the Archangel Michael. The One who sends me makes your Zeus look like a foraging mouse.”
Archangel? “Why are you here?”
When this archangel turned to face him, for only the second time in his life, Alexios felt a fear he didn’t know if he’d be able to master. “I am here to present your choices, son of Kassandra.”
Alexios straightened his spine at his mother’s name. “This is the destiny you spoke of.”
“Yes.” One side of the archangel’s lips curved for only a moment. His fathomless blue eyes seemed to bore a hole through Alexios. And there was nowhere to hide.
“You have walked a fine line between darkness and light. At times you have allowed anger, selfishness, and rancor to rule you. You have made room for vitriol and spite, hostility and hatred. In this, you have been no different than legions before you. I have been disappointed.”
At the archangel’s pause, Alexios nearly opened his mouth to defend his actions. But somehow, he understood that this being saw all and knew all there was to know about him. Even the secrets he harbored in the dark shadows of his soul. “So, I am to be condemned then?”
Michael stared at him until Alexios was ready to squirm, but he held himself still.
Finally, “In the balance of things, your kindness, mercy, and selflessness have outweighed your darkness. Your struggle has been of singular
interest to me, and I would like to make you an offer.”
What? “Am I dead or alive?” Or most likely dreaming.
“Not dreaming. This is very real. You have died, Alexios, and can move into the light of your new creation. Or I can return you to Earth, to the life you had with Sophia, if you choose to become a guardian of mankind, protecting humanity from evil until the End Days.”
Alexios could only stare.
“You would have extra abilities and would be nearly immortal, but you would also retain all that is both light and dark within you.”
“Who is the enemy?”
“Demons.”
“Be specific.”
Michael’s eyes glowed with unearthly knowledge. “Souls of wicked people who have died and return to Earth, seeking human hosts to carry out their diabolical desires.”
“Why would I agree to this?”
“You would have a lifetime with Sophia.”
Not enough. “But I would be immortal?”
The archangel nodded. “Nearly. It would take something catastrophic to kill you.”
Alexios despised the shaky exhale that slipped from his lips. “I would have Sophia stay with me through the ages. She brings light to my darkness. I will not agree to this otherwise.”
Michael lifted a brow. “You are bold beyond reason.”
“Aren’t all men who are worth their mettle on the battlefield?”
Michael was silent for a time. Finally, a soft rain began to fall. “There is a plan for your princess.”
They both looked at her, sitting in the rain, alone now but for his father, Niketas, and a few of each of the two kings’ guard. The rain mixed with Alexios’s blood to stain Sophia’s peplos pink.
“Negotiation accepted, Alexios. You, reborn as a Guardian of humanity, will never die. Your trial, even more so than battling the dark ones, I think, will be to ever watch Sophia die.”
“I cannot!”
“You can, and you will. Your love will erase the boundaries of time. And your love will ever direct you to her reincarnations.”
No. Not like this.
“It is the only way,” the archangel responded.
Alexios’s pulse pounded in his temples, his stomach twisting. “How will I find her in each life? How will she know me?”