Page 39 of Axios
“What if—”
“No.” He stopped and put his hand on my chest to halt me. “It matters notwhythe deed was done; onlythatit was done. If every slave lashed out for each wrong done to them, we would face another helot revolt as we had in years past.”
An argument was on the tip of my tongue.We are not gods nor should we behave as such,I’d say,we were all born of the same flesh and blood.But, the look in his eyes warned me not to give life to the words.
“Your inquisitive mind is a reason I fancy you so,” Eryx spoke, his green eyes unwavering on mine. “Our battle of wits and conflicting stances makes for stimulating conversations, and I treasure every moment by your side. But on this, I will not stand with you, dear friend. For too long you have fought our ways. It is time you left the boy behind and embraced the man.”
Embrace the man.Something about the phrase hit me in a way nothing else had.
It was not the first time Eryx had lectured me about my tender heart, but it was the first time I listened—really listened—to him and heeded the underlining warning in his words. If I did not let go of the boy—my compassion, individual sense of self, and refusal to abide by Spartan principles—then I would be seen as a failure for not developing as expected.
My title would be stripped, as would my pride, and I’d be called a trembler and mocked for the rest of my days.
We continued into the denseness of the trees.
Eryx moved stealthily, his footsteps so light that not even I heard them from my short distance away. He held his spear with a sure grip, angling it slightly in front of him as he progressed through the undergrowth. He’d hunted countless times and had been victorious on each of the occasions, but this was his first manhunt.
I do not think it mattered to him, however. Whether it be boar or man, he would not hesitate to kill when given an order.
The other youths yelled as they ran, their shouts resounding through the woods and coming from all directions. A hunter should never be so loud, but I knew it was an intimidation tactic—taunting the poor helot who was probably hiding in a tree somewhere.
The part of me I should be ashamed of—the one that held different morals from the rest—hoped the slave had kept running far beyond the edge of the woods so that he may not be caught.
Suddenly, Eryx halted.
I stumbled as I stopped as well and tilted my head toward him.
He surveyed the area, his stare moving amongst the branches, shrubs, and tall grass. His body was completely still as if he were a predator, waiting for the opportune time to strike. The only movements were his eyes and the soft rising and falling of his chest.
I looked around, trying to tap into my other senses—hearing and scent along with sight—but I’d always been easily distracted. Not even a second’s concentration before my mind ran rampant and unfocused. The lightweight spear became heavier the longer I held it. A piece of wood chipped off from it and poked into the palm of my hand.
I imagined mine and Ery’s stream and how I wished we were there instead of hunting.
Snap.
The noise tore me from my reveries, and then it all happened at once.
Eryx quickly looked up right as the slave jumped from the low-hanging branch and collided with him. A struggle ensued between them before a flash of silver caught my eye, and my insides churned.
The helot stood behind Eryx and placed a bloodied blade at his throat. He had hair like fire and blue eyes that stared coldly into mine.
I inched forward, prepared to attack.
“One more step and I slit his throat,” the slave snarled, tightening his hold on Eryx’s torso with one arm and angling the blade to rest on the main artery of his neck with the other. “I’ve already killed one Spartan. Killing another would be but a gift.”
I stopped my approach, feeling both ill and desperate. My heart was at the mercy of the boy, my entire world at the end of his dagger.
“Please, release him,” I said in a trembling voice. “You can run and we will not follow. All I ask is that you lower your blade and step away from him. He’s done no wrong toward you.”
“You are Spartans!” he spat back at me. “Your very existence offends me. The way you all prance around with your strong bodies and arrogance, believing everyone to be inferior to you. How you do what you wish to slaves with no sense of decency toward human life or mercy.”
As he talked, he grew angrier. “I have lost brothers and companions for no other reason than them being born slaves. My sister—always such a gentle soul who kept to herself—was raped and then butchered like a beast. I found her body behind our home, her clothes ripped and soaked in her blood. Now, tell me once more how he’s done no wrong. One less Spartan filth would be a blessing.”
The sharp edge of his dagger pressed against Eryx’s throat, and a trickle of blood oozed from the spot.
However, Eryx showed no fear. He watched me with curiosity and didn’t react to the helot’s blade cutting the side of his neck. I expected no less. Our training had prepared us for those situations and to show fear was to admit cowardice.
Hiding my distress was impossible, though.
