Golden Boy

I was born into a critical family. My father, the King of Farrigon, was a large man with eyes made of cool ice, and a heart made of stone. My mother was a shining woman, made of light and eyes that burned with feeling. In any other world the two would never have meshed, never have lain together and bore me. Between them was nothing that ever resembled love, but a distaste for one another that was obvious to me as I grew.

I was equally a disappointment between the two of them.

My mother found distaste in the way my eyes and face never quite construed feeling, my eyes were tough as flint, and no light ever danced on my face as it did hers. My father found shame in my lack of skill at anything athletic. I was an eyesore, the single heir to his throne, and an utter waste of space.

The ruination of my parents’ hopes and dreams. I was a small child, taking after my mothers wiry frame, lacking the presence of my father’s boulder-like physique. I oft tried to keep up with the training my father threw at me, but as I grew I continued to fall behind my noble peers, and brought shame among the royal family. My mother was no consolation. I would go to her, anger burning through me after another shameful attempt at proving my worth, and she would only look at me as I stumbled through my coarse words.

She hated that I spoke in anger at all, but each time my words pitifully slipped against one another, her eyes would dim. Eventually, she would look at me and her eyes alone would silence me. I could read her thoughts without her ever needing to speak them to me, ‘Disappointment’.

My parents’ hopes were never as burdensome as my own, though. I strove for excellence, to surpass all those arrogant fools that surrounded me, and constantly I fell short. I was not a fighter, nor a thinker, and having a silver tongue was beyond me. As I grew to be six years old, my father began pushing me away. No longer a child, but a budding adolescent, my father said, I need to learn to think and care for myself. My mother did not say a word. The other noble children noticed quickly that I no longer had the protection of the royal parents I’d been born to, and their cruelty slithered about, striking me silently. I learned quickly that it was best to be away from them, to be alone and hidden where no one ever came to find me. The woods, which lay inside the strong walls of the palace were a danger others would keep their children from, but no such restraints had been placed on me.

I retreated to those woods often, playing alone among the trees. Here, I did not need to be what I was not. I could be the slow stupid child that I had been born as, and there was never need to pretend otherwise. I could throw stones and see how far they would land from my position, although they often fell much shorter than I knew others could toss. There was no need to worry about disappointing these woods, as the trees had no eyes to mock me with. I aged as my time passed like this, finally turning 14.

That autumn I had run off to these woods only to discover a soldier awaiting me there, eyes much darker than my fathers. He seemed to be made of steel, and I shrank back from the man. He was not cruel, though, he only stepped toward me, steps light as my mothers, and placed me upon his steed. Nervous, though I was, I felt more at ease with this soldier than I ever had around my parents, and risked sparking conversation with the man.

“Where might we be going?” Of course, my words did not come out smoothly, they were broken and running into each other. A princeling with jagged words, and a lazy tongue.

The man did not pause in his answer despite my words running crudely into one another, “Today there is a contest amongst the princes of various kingdoms. You and the King, the burning sun of Farrigon, as well as the Queen, gods bless her soul, will be overlooking the ceremonies.”

I nodded, looking at the woods as the path turned from dirt to cobblestone. The man held the horses reins gingerly, his steps no louder than a whisper. As I peeked closer, I saw the man was made up of scars, calluses, and hardened muscle. A walking representation of what I was not, but he was kind. Perhaps, if he had been born to my parents they’d have been pleased. If it had not been I, the burning disappointment, my parents may have found a future in which they could rest easy.

“Am I to participate?” I ask, making sure to take my time with each word, so that they would not become jumbled and anger the soldier.

The soldier looks up at me, something akin to pity in his eyes. I had never been exposed to kindness nor honesty before, and it lit anger within me. This mans pity, it angered me. After all, who was this soldier to pity a Prince?

“I am not to participate because I-I-I cannot keep up with them, and my parents do not wish to see me disgrace their emp-empire.” The soldier slowed, looking up at me, and pulling the horse to a halt gingerly. I wished he would not look at me again, or I’d be damned for the anger lit within me.

“That is correct.”

I nodded at the man, before motioning him to continue. He only looked at me, his dark eyes stormy for but a second before continuing onward, towards the palace. Of course, I was still the prince, and I still had royal duties to perform. The servants gathered around me, the eldest of them with flecks of silver in his hair shaking his head.

“He is to be washed in the baths, use the same soap as his Majesty the King. Tame the curls on that boy, it is unsightly. Dress him in the emerald cloth tunic, ensure that this boy at least looks the part of royalty, though he may not bear many qualities of it.” The flock of servants nodded, and began preening at me. They poked and prodded at me, maiming the curls atop my head. They rubbed my skin until it felt like blood poured from every inch of my body, and then they dressed me. The tunic was soft, and rested right above my boyish knees, and slung over my left shoulder, The sandals adorning my feet wrapped themselves like grape vines up my calves, stopping just below the divot of my knee. I was pushed before the man with silver hair again, and he only nodded, his expression more complex than what I could read.

“He is quite tanned.” The man stated, seemingly dissatisfied.

I opened my mouth to speak, just as the door opened, and my father entered.

“He is. What of it?” The attendants all immediately dropped to the floor, bowing their heads before my father. I kneeled before him, not daring to look him in the eyes. I had made that mistake once, and received a cane to the cheek. Unpleasant though that was, I had learned from it.

My father stood right before me, his feet stopping within my sight of the floor.

“Rise, boy.” His words had always been short, cruel, and staccatoed. He only ever said what was needed, nothing less, and never anything more. I rose, eyes still connected to the floor. I felt the piercing eyes of my father inspecting me, before I heard him sigh. He held nothing of what one would call filial affection, I was but a boy that had failed to succeed at anything.

“You received naught from me, I see. No inspiring stature. Your legs are mere twigs, Androdus.”

“I apologize, father.”

Again, the man paused and the air crackled with his anger.

“Do not call me father. You are not to speak at this ceremony. You are not to move, and unless I command it you will not breathe. Do you understand, Androdus?”

“Yes, your Majesty.” The man stormed back out, and I felt myself shrink once more. I recall hoping the ceremony would be quick, as I was not good at holding my breath for long periods of time.

As the ceremony grew closer, my mother visited once. She only came to see if I had grown past the boyish anger and stuttering. She said one word, and it was as she entered.

“Speak,” she said, and her voice was so soft I felt as if I was melting beneath the very sun.

“Mother, I do n-not wish to anger you.” It was one slip-up, but I watched the light drain from her eyes, and she left the room as if I had told her I’d killed a man. The attendants read to me while we waited to be fetched for the ceremony, but I wandered the castle for some time. As I walked, with no less than 20 attendants at my heels, I stopped at the sound of my parents’ voices. They spoke in hushed tones, and their voices floated into my ears, dropping like stones.

“Is there naught we can do about him?” it was my mothers voice, soft like honey.

“He is disappointing. He takes after you.” My fathers voice was stale, no inflection or emotion in his words.

“He was born with only the worst qualities of us both. I would be glad to be rid of that boy.” My mothers voice, usually syrup and sweet like nectar, was venomous, and I flinched at the edge. I looked at the attendants, who also heard what my parents said, and looked at each of them bitterly. This conversation, this private conversation between my parents would soon be broadcast to the entire palace. I would be known as the sole disappointment of the royal family, the burdensome child that cannot even speak without his words jumbling together atrociously. The worst qualities of the king and queen born onto Farrigon. I wanted to run and leave, but the attendants each eyed me carefully. To leave now would mean I was hurt by their words, it would give substance to the story. The boy heard he was a disappointment and fled- so, then, it must be true. I stayed, allowing their words to embed themselves in me.

“We will try again, then.” My mother said, her voice soft once more.

“We must, or we will leave the kingdom to the ruination of that dimwitted child.”

“But how do we make sure our second child becomes the heir?”

“I will handle it.”

My father never said more than he meant, and I felt my heart slow to a terrified mantra.

They are going to kill me, I thought. For all that I am not, my parents are going to kill me before I ever get the chance to prove myself. The conversation stopped, and I looked at the attendants.

“Well, now that we have each eavesdropped on the King and Queen, shall we return to my quarters?” Of course, the words are dizzying, and they spill recklessly from my lips. It does not sound like a prince talking, but a slow stablehand. I see it in their eyes as I walk past them ‘this prince does not have his wits about him’. They were right, had I been a brighter child I would have commanded them to never speak of what we heard, but my heart was beating in two rhythms, split down the middle by the very people that brought me into the world. The ceremony began, and I watched as the other princelings gathered in the courtyard. They were small, but all of them had gangly limbs. They seemed as if they were made of gold, strong and solid. One child, a boy with rare golden hair lit the courtyard with his smile. He was my age, and I felt envy wrap her claws around my throat, cutting off my air. I watched as the ceremony began, and the child swiftly out performed his peers. He was the winner of the challenges, beating even the boys twice his size and age. As he approached the podium our eyes met, and the boy smiled at me. That was what a prince was supposed to look like. His father climbed the stairs, not far behind the blond headed princeling. As his father scooped him into his arms, the boy giggled, and it was like a melody, sending electricity through the air. My eyes drifted to my father, who watched the pair. Callously, my father turned to look at me, and his eyes roared with the same envy that had entangled itself in my stomach. My father stood, his stature towering over the ceremony, so large a man he was that when he stood, time itself seemed to pause. Heads turned towards him, and my fathers voice echoed.

“King Diomedes and Prince Theomedeos congratulations on your performance during the ceremony. As promised, Prince Theomedeos you will light the torches at the altar of prayer before the Treatise of Olympus begins.”

My fathers eyes turned to me, and he grabbed me by the shoulders, pushing me forward, and handing a golden leaf crown to me.

“Do not mess this up, all you are to do is place the golden reef atop Prince Theomedeos’ head.” I nodded, feeling sweat drip down my back. I took the golden reef gently, and approached the Prince. He bowed his head, so that I might reach him, and I gingerly sat it atop his golden curls. The Prince smiled at me, turning back to his Father.

“Do you see Father?” The boy’s voice was like music, his words flowing out like honey. He had my mothers tongue. He had his fathers love. Would I have been so blessed if I’d been born to Diomedes? I didn’t wonder long, and strode back to my seat. I sat down, placing myself gingerly atop the dais.

Of course, my father found fault in my performance, and I was cast aside once more after the ceremony came to a conclusion. Theomedes lit the torches, and we all bowed our heads in prayer, and the weekend of watching others’ brilliance came to an end.

I was back in the woods not too long after all the guests had departed Farrigon, but this time I would not be alone. Another boy sat, as if waiting for me. It could not be good news that another noble was out here, but hope sat atop my heart, and for a moment I forgot how cruel I had learned the world to be.

Perhaps, this boy would be different. Perhaps he held the sun within himself, like Theomedeos, perhaps there was kindness like I had witnessed at the ceremonies.

I approached the boy, moving like a ghost. I had learned to step lightly, to make no sounds to avoid detection. After all, if someone found me, it was never for a good reason.

I stopped in front of the boy, whose skin was more tanned than even mine. He was perhaps lonely, as I was.

“Hello.” For once, my words came out smoothly. Simple. The boy startled, almost falling backwards off the tree root he sat upon.

“Ah, so you really do come to play out here, Androdus.” I did not know this boy, but he knew me. It piqued my curiosity, so I sat down beside him.

“I do.”

“I would like to play with you.” The boy was curt, his words were simple, and easy to understand. He was clearly intelligent, I could see him thinking behind those brown eyes.

“What would you like to play?” I asked, enunciating enough to not feel embarrassed.

“Let’s play something simple. What about hide and seek?” The boy smiled, and it was a bright thing. It was only after He’d started counting I realized he was holding a knife. Perhaps on this day the gods had been watching over me. Or perhaps I had learned the forest through all the time I’d spent in it, but I ran, as if the wind was carrying me. I heard the boy behind me, as his movements were not careful and he oft stepped on twigs, or stumbled through leaves, or he would cry out as thorns he did not see tore into his skin. Run a voice seemed to whisper in my ear, as I fled further and further into the forest.

I was silent, as I had learned to become. Do not move, do not even think of breathing without permission.

I ran further and further into the forest, until I found myself lost in the entanglement of the woods. I could no longer hear the boy cursing, or his clumsy footsteps falling into twigs or leaves, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I was lost, but I was also a Prince. Surely, someone would look for me. I stopped, realizing I hoped they would send a search party, hoping they would send someone to find me, but they had sent a boy. My parents had sent that boy.

Yes, the voice which had told me to run comes back, You can never return there so long as you live. It was a woman’s voice, and it was not like my mothers, it wasn’t sweet nectar or as soft as honey, instead it was intelligent. As if the voice contained all the knowledge of the universe.

“Then where do I go?” I asked, hoping that I had not truly lost my wits. Hoping I had not gone mad.

Find him, the golden boy. He will need you. He will help you.

Theomedeos? How could I help him? What worth does someone like me offer to a boy who has everything that I never did?

Cast aside your envy, and aid the golden child. Your efforts shall not be in vain, Androdus. To this you have the word of a god, follow my instructions, and you shall find peace.

A brighter child than I would have questioned which god was speaking, but I had no offerings for her. I had no future without those words, and so my story began. A boy with nothing searching to aid the golden child, Prince Theomedeos.

The first problem arose quickly, I needed to get out of Farrigon. I reasoned, if my parents would send a noble boy to kill me, they would send others to make sure the job had been finished. I tried calling out to the god, to ask for help, but she did not answer again. Such was the way with the gods. I stumbled through the forest, walking day and night until I reached the edge. A river lie before me, with no way to cross. I had not the talent for swimming, and I knew once I crossed the river I would have to climb the cobblestone wall to leave Farrigon. I sat before the river, watching as lights began to sparkle around me. Fireflies. I knew of them, though I’d never seen them before. They stayed within the woods, and around the river, and were known as the beacon of gods. To see so many of them, it would be considered nothing less than a miracle. I watched as they floated around me, bobbing and weaving through invisible currents of air, always staying afloat. Sometimes, one of the small bugs would land softly on a blade of grass, as if resting, but a breeze would come along, and it would float back into the air dancing on the currents once more. As time passed, a lightning bug landed upon my sleeve. I looked at it. It was curious how it seemed to hold bits of sunshine. As I continued to examine the creature, another landed beside it, and I watched as they seemed to vibrate with energy. Another landed beside them, and then the three lit up, a soft green glow becoming golden. They flew into the air, flying towards the river. I followed them, as if in a trance. One landed on the water, bobbing atop the moisture, seemingly unbothered by the current. I stepped towards it, and looked in awe as my leg came back out of the river dry. The next golden bug flew in a straight line, landing across the river from me, and seemed to watch as I slowly made my way into the water. The third landed on my nose, glowing brightly. I stepped, growing more awe shocked with each movement. I was not wet, nor did the water seem to hinder my progress. As I reached the last firefly, I looked back. The bugs had vanished, and I had crossed the river.

I sat, looking across the river as the sun rose through the sky. How had that happened? How had I crossed a river with no need to swim, or even plunge into the water itself? I accounted for everything that happened, and realized that by some miracle I received attention from a god, one with enough power to create miracles.

I continued onward, emboldened by escape, and the river crossing. I had not done anything, had not even had to lift a finger. Perhaps I had been misjudged by everyone. Perhaps, despite the words still smeared into my cracked heart, I was not so much a disappointment as they had believed. I walked, feeling as if I could begin to mend my own heart, as if I would become someone that could be needed. That was when it began.

I had been told, even as a child, not to trust the gods. They are holy, yes, but they enjoy playing tricks, and spend their time forsaking foolish mortals. Should a god find favor in you, they will test you endlessly. They will test you, and test your limits, until they find no worth in you.

I had not believed those lessons. I had believed that the gods were not cruel, as mortals were. I had believed that if kindness existed, it existed solely within them, and that their tests were not cruel, but meant to reveal the true nature of men.

I had been wrong.

The first of my trials began after I crossed the river, and it was fortunate that I escaped at all. I came across a rank of soldiers, most on horseback, some on foot who carried heavy metal shields and swords that were the length of my small body. I was out of the woods, with nothing to hide me. The men noticed me quickly, and the troop began riding towards me, so quickly I feared they would trample me, and leave my body to turn to dust.

Do not run.

I could not, even if I wanted to. In this, running would be a death sentence. An admission of guilt, so I stood, watching as the troop surrounded me.

“Reveal yourself.” A man, no older than my mother yelled, his voice echoing against the metal of his armor. He was large, perhaps even larger than my father, and his voice carried across the wind.

“I am Androdus, only child of the King and Queen. I ask for temporary shelter at your camp.” My voice, whether by the grace of whatever god followed me or by luck, did not shake or jumble the words. Instead, I sounded like a prince, like the son of a King. The man who spoke got off his horse, and strode towards me. He did not kneel, not yet.

“We have been told Androdus is dead.” The man spoke, and his words nearly knocked the wind from me.

“That is treacherous, to spread the word that I am dead, when I clearly stand before you. Is there no one here who has seen me before?”

One man stepped forward, kneeling before me.

“I know him, it is as he says. He is our Prince.” It was the guard with kindness in his eyes, and war painted across his body. He had taken me back to the palace for the ceremonies.

The other man nodded, falling to his knee as well.

“My prince, I am glad you are well. Please forgive any disrespect, it was purely miscommunication. We were told to search for your body.”

“I understand. I had gotten lost in the forest for some time. It is a miracle I got out. I am quite tired now, please take me to your camp and send word to my father. Tell him, Androdus has been found safe, and well.”

The man nods, before leading me to his horse. I clumsily mounted the thing, and we rode back to the soldiers camp. I approached the guard that had sworn for me.

“Sir?” The man turned, smiling at me.

“I am glad you are well, my Prince.”

“Likewise. I would ask to borrow a horse, some gold, food, and water. I will not be returning to Farrigon for quite some time.” The man gaped at me, and I was worried he thought me to be dull, before he spoke again.

“Prince, it is no light sentence for me to help you escape. I would be let go from knighthood, and executed for treason.”

“Tell them this: I am following the words of a god. To aid me would be the action of any pious man. If you do not, you will incur the wrath of her, and her wrath shall not be easy to bear.” The man paled, looking truly petrified.

“Are you sure you are well, my prince?”

“I will be well again when I have left Farrigon.”

I had thought this man to be trustworthy enough, a man of honor and good words. After all, had he not been honest with me on the day of the ceremony?

I had thought wrong. He left my sight, but for a brief moment my skin began to burn as I waited. I sat in the stable, awaiting the man’s return, only to hear alarm bells begin ringing.

“The boy was not the Prince!” The yell echoes across the camp, and I jump up.

“Prince Androdus’ body has been recovered! Find the boy and execute him!” For a moment I sat in the stable, dumbfounded. Am I not the Prince? No, I was born to the King and Queen. How then have they recovered a body that is not mine? Understanding pierces into me: the boy they sent to kill me failed, and he looked enough like me to pass.Perhaps, a bit sturdier, but tan with curly locks and hazel green eyes. Features that all match mine. They have killed him in my place.

Panic begins to consume me. If I am found I will be killed as well, and they will not bury me or burn my body. They will place my head on the castle wall as an example. I will not even be named on any grave; my very burial has been taken from me. My name, and my birthright have been slammed from reach. I will become naught but a wandering spirit here, never laid to rest.

Hide, Androdus.

And so, my brain, which had always been slow, and like a childs spun. I must become someone who is never looked upon. Someone whom even knights do not care to pay attention to. I jumped into the stall with a wiley white steed, and rolled about in the hay. I covered my face in mud, or manure, but I did not care. I stripped my clothing from myself, as it was nice and richly made, nothing that a stablehand would own. I darted into the small room within the stables, sighing to find it empty. It was lived in clearly, but the stablehand was not here. I took clothes from the small wooden dresser, and slipped them on. They were loose on my wiry frame, but with this no one would notice that. I slipped a small brown cap on, and stepped into a pair of shoes that were seemingly breaking apart. I stepped out of the room, acting as if I’d just awoken. I had not paid close attention to stablehands, but I had imagined myself in this role a million times, and it fit me. It fit me better than being a prince. A soldier pushed past me, and I fell face first into a pile of hay. The man did not bother to say anything to me, and just mounted a horse, before racing off. Several soldiers followed suit, all too focused on finding me to see through the disguise. A man, wearing clothes like mine but fitted to him, eyed me as he walked in.

“You the new stable boy?”

I only nodded, pushing the cap lower to cover my eyes. The man sighed, pushing me forwards.

“Then get to work. I’m guessing you come from some disgusting rut people call a home, but your parents barely afford to feed ya? No worries, here you’ll at least get three square meals a day. That’s only if you do the work for it though.” I only nodded once more, before the man sighed again and walked out. I was left alone for a bit, no horses present in the stable, and the camp eerily quiet.

I whispered to the god, “do I go now?” but she did not answer. So, I waited. I was foolish. As the soldiers began coming back, they found me, and a still dirty stable. More than one of them scoffed as they closed the door to their horses stable.

“Where’s Cyr?” One of them asked me, and I nodded to the left, the way he had exited. The man only spit at me, before exiting the stable. Cyr, I learned, was indeed the name of the stablehand I’d met. He came back, face red as a tomato and cursed at me.

“Didn’ I tell you to get to work? I can’t have the soldiers returning back to this mess. You know who decided if ya eat don’t you? Me. So, unless you wanna starve, this place best be sparkling by dawn.” He muttered to himself as he went back to his room, slamming the door shut behind him. I got to work, though I should’ve left. I cleaned the stables, one by one, until I was slammed by a wave of exhaustion and hunger. How many days had I gone without sleep and food? I’d only had water thanks to the river, but hunger began to twist my stomach painfully.

The next morning Cyr came outta his room, clearly enraged.

“Didja steal my clothes and shoes?” The man shouted, anger shooting out of his mouth as spitballs. I looked down at the garb I’d taken from him.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t have an extra set and I fell into the manure and panicked.” I say it softly, pitifully, hoping to lessen the man’s anger, but my words set him off.

“This damned place, can’t even have your own clothes without being’ worried bout some stupid little runt taking the damned clothes outta your own room. Well, I’ll be damned if ya get away with this you little rat. Ya know what they do to thieves?”

They start with light sentences for thievery, as it’s often an act of desperation, but the more you get caught the crueler the sentence. My first act of thievery would’ve been stealing his shirt, the second, his pants, and the third his shoes.

“Please, Cyr, I’ll clean em and pay you back. You have my word.”

“What good is the word of a thief?”

The man drags me into the center of the camp, pushing me into the ground.

“Captain! Captain! This new stable boy stole from me. Just look at him, all wiry and pathetic tryin’ to wear a man’s clothes! He stole it right from my room.”

A soldier comes out, groggy with sleep.

“Cyr, I told you not to wake us up early today. Most of the men didn’t get back but a few minutes ago. What could possibly be the problem?”

“This stable boy is a thief. I swear on my name, he stole from me.”

“What would you have me do, he’s but a boy, Cyr.”

“I know that, but he ought to learn now ya can’t go taking what ain’t yours. He stole three articles of clothing from me, not to mention my good cap.”

“Okay, then have the boy fast. Don’t feed him, this isn’t such a big problem you need to wake the whole camp.”

Cyr begins to shake with rage, his whole face turning bright pink.

“It ain’t a problem yet. It ain’t a problem cause he ain’t steal from you, yet. I’m telling you, if you let this go he’ll be stealing from every man here.”

“Fine, then we’ll have him whipped 5 lashes for each thing he stole.”

“That’s only 20 lashes, Captain. He won’t even cry with that.”

“Cyr, what do you want?”

“50 Lashes, at minimum.” The captain only stared at Cyr, as if repulsed by the man.

“Cyr, even my best men could die from that.”

“Then I guess, he’d learn from it or die because of it. Ain’t my fault the brat is a little thief.”

“Then 50 lashes, tie him to the post. I’ll wake Bennet.”

I had been lashed before, my mother had ordered it. She had made me talk as it happened, and each time my words became jumbled she ordered another lash. I had passed out after 30, and now this man Cyr was demanding 50 lashes for clothes I didn’t even want. I fought Cyr the whole way to the post, begging him to have mercy.

“Please, Cyr. I promise I’ll give it all back and you’ll never have to see me again. Just please don’t have me lashed.”

“Too bad, ya little thief. Shouldn’t have stolen from me. Everyone knows a man’s belongings are his pride.”

And, if that was true, I had nothing.

Cyr tied me to the post, and the knots were unbudging. A man, Bennet, I assumed, came out of a tent, followed closely by the Captain of the guard.

The captain leaned down, and said “Sorry, boy. I know you’re probably shit outta luck in life, but you gotta know better than to steal. Nothing I can do. Bite down on this.” He put a piece of hard leather in my mouth, and stepped back. Cyr went to stand behind the Captain, an ugly smirk on his face. Bennet had already grabbed a whip, and was inspecting it, he looked at me, my small helpless form against the post and let out an exasperated sigh.

“Get on with it Bennet.”

“Sir.” The man affirmed, and the first crack of the whip exploded against my back. I knew the pain, and like the fool I am I chanted prayers to any god that might listen.

Please let me live through this.

Please do not let me die.

I have not even gotten to live yet.

Regrets, like memories welled up within me, lighting up with each sear of the whip against the surface of my back.

I never told my parents I’m sorry for being this way.

My parents never told me they loved me.

My parents did not love me.

I have not even been loved.

Then, as tears welled up in my eyes I focused on facts.

I am Androdus.

I am Androdus.

I will survive.

I will find the golden boy.

I will help him.

I will be of use.

I will live. I will be loved.

This moment will not be my last.

They will not steal this life from me.

This moment will just be another dirty memory in the sewage of my past.

The whip hit a sore place, and my body fell hard against the wooden post. It is comforting, that there is something stronger than I to lean against.

Perhaps I can become as strong as this post. Unmoving, and unflinching in the face of cruelty. The whip cracks again.

I will not be like them. These people who are tormented by their own misfortunes. I will not fall to tragedy. My story will not become a tragedy. I will be happy. Happy, despite them.

“That’s 50, sir.” The world became dark, my eyes, heavy as led demanding to fall shut, and never reopen.

Keep your eyes open, Androdus.

I tried, I moved my arm, and retched, the lashings covering my small back sending pain across my entire being.

“You’re alive.” The captain, though my eyes were open, he was blurred beyond recognition. All I felt was hands hurriedly moving my body. Then, hands more gentle than the sea breeze, patting the wounds on my back, cleaning them, applying something cool and earthy. A woman’s voice, like her touch whispering in my ear, as my eyes close.

“You will be okay, boy. You survived. You survived.” She whispers, and my eyes, despite my effort, slam closed, the world darkening all at once.

Androdus

Androdus

You must go to the golden boy. You must save him. Do not let the fates steal his destiny.

“Oh, you’re awake!” The woman is plump, and kind. She quickly comes to sit beside me, and holds my hand in her own.

“Where?” My voice is shaky, and barely a whisper, but the woman smiled kindly. I had never been smiled at like that before. Even my own mother had not smiled with kindness at me.

“You’re in the medical tent. You’ve been in and out for three or four days, bless your heart.” She has a bit of an accent, but it’s hard to tell what kind. She stands up, and smiles down at me once more.

“Cyr wanted me to apologize to you, though I don’t think you’ll forgive him after that. Crazy man, 50 lashings for clothes? Especially clothes he’d have lent to you if you’d have asked. He said he doesn’t know what came over him, it was like he was possessed. So, you don’t have to forgive him, but he does feel bad.”

“I didn’t mean to steal from him, I was just in a panic cause my clothes were ruined and I didn’t want to get in trouble with the guards when they came to get their horses.”

“Of course, honey. Don’t be troubled, Cyr isn’t mad anymore. He’s even been fasting as penance. Said he’ll give you the food he doesn’t eat. Of course, if you don’t wanna work here anymore, that’s your choice.”

“My back… it doesn’t hurt?”

The woman smiles tenderly at that, before grabbing a salve from the stash of medicine lying on the table. It seems unorganized, but the woman has no problem finding it in the pile.

“Numbing cream. I imagine you’ll be in more pain than you’ve ever felt tonight, but for now, you’re numb. Which also means, it’s a good time to change those bandages.” She motions at me to flip over, and I easily comply, only feeling the briefest shock of burning fly from my back up my arms.

“No infection yet, that’s good. Usually at this point you’d be bleeding puss.”

“Bleeding puss?”

“That’s what I like to say, it’s that gooey white stuff that clogs the wounds. I’m still gonna clean this before I rebandage, but you’ll make it out of the woods alright. You’re still young, so I was pretty determined to keep you alive, even if it meant giving you my own back.”

I chuckle a bit at that, and she gently starts pressing a wet cloth to my back. It hurts, but not so much as I remembered. Not so much as when the whipping was inflicted by my mother. In my home. Compared to that, I thought to myself, this is easy.

It did not stay easy.

Just as the woman predicted, the pain came as night dawned. She drew close, talking in circles. Telling me her own story.

Beth, she said that’s her name. I tell her it’s a pretty name. It suits her, she smiles, and these wrinkles at the corner of eye appear, and even though I’m in pain, I smile back. She once had three kids, one of them would be about my age now. I don’t ask. I know better, whenever people’s eyes grow dim, or weary, you don’t ask further. I simply nod. She continues on her own anyways.

“He wouldn’t have been quite so tan as you, I expect. Probably just as lean, it gets hard to make money in medicine. Especially as a woman. I’m gentle, and I’ll take care of them, but men don’t want women to see them like that. They kick me out, no matter my skills.”

It reminds me how stupid people are, how dumb our rules are. Talent only matters if you’re born into it. If you’re born into talent and don’t have it, though…

“Do you think I can leave here?” I ask her, after she’s been quiet long enough for the pain to thrum alive again.

“I’m going to tell you a secret, okay?”

I look at her.

“You can always leave. No matter where you are, running is an option. And a good one. Don’t ever let your pride keep you somewhere you don’t wanna be. Heaven knows, most men do, and they die never knowing what they could have been.”

“Did you ever leave even though you were scared?” I ask her, and I look as the question hits her like a brick.

Her eyes go dull, blank, and for a moment it reminds me of my mother. “I left because I was terrified. I was not scared to leave. I was scared that if I stayed I would lose myself.”

“I’m glad, Beth.”

“Me too, boy.”

Sleep captures me in her net, and keeps me there until morning.

Beth wakes me up, handing me warm bread, and smiling.

“You’re a quiet sleeper, ya know that?” I look at her, confused for a moment.

“None of my kids slept so quietly. I got worried you might’ve passed in your sleep. Never seen a child sleep so quietly.”

“I had to be quiet, or I’d be noticed.” I gave her this: a truth. I was as raw as the wounds on my back, and this woman had been feeding me her story, keeping me alive for days. She deserved this, at least.

She nods, “I suspected as much. Kids don’t get into being stablehands lest there’s some problems at home. Well, even if ya leave here, I’ll treat ya as one of my own. To do that though, I gotta have a name to call you.”

A name. I am Androdus, I wanted to tell her. But, if I said that I’d be caught, I’d be digging my own grave, and Beth here would have to live with the guilt of putting me in it. I didn’t know that she could, and I didn’t want to put that on her, so instead I asked her a favor.

“Can you give me a new one?”

She smiles, and it brings warmth into my stomach. I felt safe, something I’d not quite felt before.

“How about Deo?”

“Deo… I like that.” She smiles, and brings me a warm cup of herbs. It doesn’t taste good, but she watches to make sure I drink the whole thing down.

“Pain level?” She asks, later when the sun is mid sky. I realize then that I haven’t been in pain yet, my back has not ached or hurt or burned. Even moving my arms has not been a strain.

“0.” She levels a look at me, and I smile.

“Don’t try to be a tough guy, now. I gotta know so I can treat ya.” She tells me. I nod, but tell her again.

“No, it actually doesn’t hurt at all. Not a bit.”

She looks shocked before telling me, “Then lets take a look, maybe one of those nerves got mangled. It’s too soon for ya to be recovered yet.”

I obey, and flip onto my stomach. She removes the bandages and gasps.

“I know I’m a healer, but I ain’t this good.” She remarks. I’m curious, so I kick up outta the bed. She angles the mirror at my back, and I gasp too.

“It’s… healed over? No scabs. It’s just scarring now? Is that even possible?” I ask her.

“I’ve only seen this one other time. Have you ever heard the tale of Pelotudos?” I look at her, waiting.

“I was his physician. I was still young, new to the world of medicine. Pelotudos was the strongest warrier of that battle campaign. They’d been at war for months, at that point, and Pelotudos had never been injured. Not until the raid. The war was against the Shrylian people, as they had stolen from the King. They’d taken his steed, their Prince had. We asked for it back, they refused and said ‘just come and get it from us.’ So, that’s what we did. Pelotudos got angry, men were dying over something so simple as a horse, I mean, can you imagine?”

It was utterly ridiculous, to kill over something so simple as a horse.

“He refused to fight any longer, and the war took a turn for the worse. Pelotudos stood and watched people die, his anger growing as the Shrylian people killed ours. All they had to do was return the damned horse. So, when they came for the camp, Pelotudos reached the chasm of his anger, and told the soldiers to stand down. ‘I’ll handle this,’ he said. He slaughtered each and every one of the enemy that dared step foot past the line he drew in the dirt. He came back, covered in blood, swords sticking out from his chest, heaving hard. He came into the med tent and told me ‘they will not be coming back’, and then he fell, pushing a sword right through his heart. By all means, the man should’ve died right there. But he didn’t. We removed the sword, and sewed him shut, and awaited his recovery or death. Before our very eyes, a miracle occurred. Pelotuds’ wounds healed in an instant, going from tears and vicious gashes to scars. He awoke, and told me I worked magic, and that a god had spoken to him. The next day, he won the war by sneaking in, and stealing the horse back. The Shrylian were too afraid to face him, believing he had won the gift of immortality, and they did not come back to fight.”

“What happened to him after everything?” I asked.

Beth’s face fell, “The life of one chosen by the gods is no life I wish upon anyone. As they say, the gods test men and always find their faults. Pelotudos was no exception. He died, atop mount Olympus begging for immortality only to be struck by a lightning bolt.”

“Then what was his fault?”

“His greed, he never stopped wishing to become a god. He believed himself to be equal to them.”

“Well, then if I told you a god spoke to me, would you be angry?” Her eyes soften, and she huddles closer to me.

“I would not be angry at you, I would tell you to follow the gods wherever they would take you, but to be aware of the fault of men. Not one of us is perfect, and we should never claim to be it.”

“Then if she told me to leave, would you help me?”

I hadn’t even needed to ask. Beth nods, grabbing a bag from the table and handing it to me. She takes me to the stables, holding my hand as if I were a child.

“Cyr, it’s time you make right your wrong.”

The man walks out, seeming to be under immense pressure.

“Oh! It’s the boy! Now I know how cruel I was to you, and it was not right of me, and this is no excuse but I was just having a bad couple years. You reminded me of myself and you’d stolen what little I own. I ain’t ever been that cruel before, I ain’t ever had the heart for it, but now I see my anger is excessive, and I truly am sorry. I ain’t gonna have you return the clothes, and I have some food saved up for your return.”

“It’s alright, to be honest I don’t blame you, Cyr.” I tell him, and his eyes begin to grow dewy. He takes a deep breath before looking at Beth.

“Now, Beth, ya know you needn’t be so harsh with me. I know what I did. What brings you here?”

Beth smiles, “I know, Cyr. I’m here to get the boy a horse. He’s on a divine mission.” Cyr’s eyes go wide, and his face pales.

“Not another one of them that’s been chosen by the gods?”

Beth nods, and Cyr turns his gaze onto me. I notice then that the man’s teeth are extraordinarily crooked, and his eyes have the same wrinkles as Beths. He’s tan, but not in complexion, as a man that has spent his life under the sun. His eyes are bright, like Beths, but his shoulders seem to droop more, as if life has been a burden upon him.

“Then, let me get you a steed I personally own. Then maybe we can be even, right, boy?”

I nod at him, and he smiles, quite lopsidedly. A horse, pretty and speckled, emerges being led out by Cyr.

“This beaut is named after the mother of this country, our founding goddess, Ker.”

I nod, “Ker.” I repeat, finding words much more easily than I ever had before.

Beth and Cyr set out in putting together a survival pack for me.

“We packed clothes, soap, food, and water. There’s not much coin between the two of us, but we gave what we could. Also, Cyr put a knife in the leather pouch on the saddle. Should you need it, it will be there. May the goddess lead you through your trials.” Beth bows her head, and Cyr follows.

I thanked them, and Cyr led me from the camp.

“You’re the Prince ain’t ya?” He asks, as the horse carries me to the very edge of the camp.

I look at him, and see understanding in his eyes.

“You had a speech problem when ya first got here, but it seems to have left you. I wonder, do you think that’s the gods, or because you left the palace?”

“I don’t know but I feel more comfortable with Beth than my own family.”

Cyr only smiled, nodding.

“I found your princely tunic in the stables, but I felt so guilty for the lashings I couldn’t bring myself to turn you in.” I smiled at him.

“I will remember your kindness, Cyr.”

“It was never kind, kid. It was guilt. You get older, and you learn the difference.”

“You have been kinder to me than my father.” Cyr only nods, looking downtrodden.

“Do you think, when you’ve made it to the heavens, or when your tale is told… Do you think I’ll be in it?”

I smile at him, “Are you here, now?” I ask.

He nods, “Then, I will make sure you’re part of the story.”

“And Beth, too.” He adds quietly.

“And Beth.” I agree.

He smacks the horse’s rear, and Ker takes off running. Unlike me, Ker seems to move as if she has a set path to follow, like there is something pulling in her. It is not me, as when I tried to take the reins, Ker complained tirelessly and refused to move. I set her reins upon her neck and held gently to her hair as she ran. The sun began to set, and Ker ran on, running through the open gates of Farrigon, and leaving the kingdom I grew up in behind us.

“Well, Ker, I guess it’s just us now.” The horse whinnied, before pulling to a stop. She stood, and then laid on the gently swaying grass, in a way I never have seen a horse lay before. I rested against her stomach, feeling it dip and grow with her breaths.

I pulled an apple from the bag, and placed it before her. It wasn’t enough for a horse her size, but it was what I had. I ate a small chunk of bread, and rested against Ker. The stars sparkled endlessly, twinkling in the night sky and reminding me of fireflies. As I looked at the stars, they began to arrange themselves into a man pointing a sword. The Sword pointed East, the direction Ker had been taking us that day.

“Then, we are to go east.” I sighed. That night was the first time I had ever missed anyone. I missed Beth, and her stories. I missed her motherly hands, and her gentle voice. She was like the mother I’d not been born to. I didn’t miss Cyr quite as much, but I hoped he was with Beth, and the two were destined to find peace in this life. I fell asleep dreaming of them laughing, and being jovial. I was not in the scene, but it brought me joy to think of.

When I awoke, Ker was grazing in the field. She looked over as I approached her, and gently took her reins in my hand. She whinnied gently as I clumsily climbed upon her saddle, and set off eastwards once again. During my time in the palace, I had learned to ride a horse, but Ker was not like other horses. She was free, and would not allow me to handle her at all. She took herself to streambeds, and ate when she demanded. She refused the apples I left for her, and would simply graze in fields whenever she had the chance. Eventually the cool air began to warm, and the grass became sand. I looked at Ker, as she strode through the desert plain. I wondered if she would be okay without food. Or perhaps, she would find food. Perhaps she could find us water, but I began to feel guilty.

The desert was no place for a horse. I dismounted her an hour into the desert, and took all the gear from her. I removed the knife from the satchel, removed her bridle and saddle, and left only an apple, should she want it.

“You must go back, Ker. I worry for you, and the environment. You must stay where the grass grows and water is easy to find.”

The horse looked at me, and turned to leave, but I could swear something like joy sparked in the mare’s eyes. I continued the journey by foot. After a week of walking through the desert, I grew weary of the sun. It burned on me, and its heat was not joyful. It was tedious and induced fever. I grew thirsty, and only found cactus, which I cut open to find small amounts of water. It sustained me, but my mouth grew dry and began to feel like it was filled with sand. Perhaps, I was turning into sand. I continued walking East, but began to change my sleep schedule. I slept when the sun was high, and walked as night grew dark, and the air cool. I found water more often at night, with a clearer mind. The sun was not affecting my senses anymore, and that was a mercy. Finally, a week after entering the desert, I saw it. Far out, as if barely a speck, there was a shining beacon. A palace, it was the kingdom of Deaderia. Prince Theomedeos would be there, and I would arrive to help him. Two days passed, and the palace did not draw any closer, despite walking tirelessly. My supply of food began to run low on the third day, and I decided to ration the last slice of bread as much as I could. Hunger clawed at my stomach, like it had never done before, ravaging my mind. I could not think of anything but food, or water. Or that damned palace that was just out of reach. Still, I walked, going crazy with hunger and thirst but determined to make it. Just one more day, I would tell myself, and I will meet him. Just make it one more day, and I will be of worth. The food ran out, and I walked. Day came, and I walked still, until the sand became stone, and a man yelled from the walls.

“Halt, in the name of King Diomedes!” I stopped, my brain barely understanding what the man was saying.

“Help.” I said only, before slipping into unconsciousness. I awoke in a barren room, only filled with dozens of beds. A boy sat beside me, smiling boldly.

“You’re awake!” He harped, voice like rough paper. I only nodded, curling into myself. My stomach ached, and nausea grew as noise began to bombard my senses. My head pounded as the boy’s footsteps clattered away, and other footsteps drew near.

Androdus, he is here

He is here, help him

He will save them all

“Theomedeos.” I said, without even looking at those who drew near. I heard someone move closer, silently telling the other boys to back away.

“Yes, that is my name.” His voice was endlessly pure, as if it had been painted rather than said. His words flowed into me, fixing my ailments, and breathing life back into my tired limbs.

“I have been looking for you, Theomedeos.” I say, opening my eyes. The boy is different than I remember. He is older, his curly blond head has grown into shoulder length locks, falling prettily to his face. He is my age, I remember. I must have also grown into something new.

“Do I know you?” His eyebrow arches, accentuating his sharp features, and drawing his features into a puzzled expression.

“You do not.”

“And you have been looking for me?”

“Yes.”

The boy pauses for a moment, his golden eyes alight with joy. He is happy, then. He does not need me, then.

“I may be mistaken, but I heard a voice tell me to help a golden child.” I tell him, and his expression remains serious.

“Well I am golden, aren’t I?” Handsome, this boy is what I always envied. What my parents wished me to be. Inquisitive, handsome, alluring.

“And you, stranger, walked across the entire desert to help me?” His voice, I do not think words can describe the beauty of hearing him talk. It was so beautiful, I thought, even the gods must envy him.

“I only walked some of it. My horse, Ker, she walked me an hour into the desert before I set her loose.” At this, Theomedeos actually laughs.

“You had a horse, and you walked!” He looks absolutely exasperated by me, but still he sits and listens as I tell him of the voice, the goddess that led me here. I leave out parts of the story, such as the whipping, or my thievery, or the fact that I myself am a prince. He does not need to know that I was the boy who set the golden reef upon his head. He does not need to know me, he only needs to listen and choose if he will accept me as his help. That is all.

Once I finish the tale, I look back up at him, and notice that even his lashes are made of gold, and they’re long, quite like my mothers.

Then, as the silence draws closer, I ask “How old are you Theomedeos?” Because, I do not know how long I was in the desert, or how long I was wandering from Farrigon. How long has it been since I have been home?

“I am turning 18 in fall.” His answer is simple, and I nod. So I have aged a year since my parents tried to kill me. It has been a year, and I am no longer a budding adolescent, but a man. I would be married by now. My father would have married me off, or been rid of me with murder.

“Has the goddess said why she sent you?” He asks, watching me closely. No one has ever watched me as he does, with full attention, as if in wonder. I was never anything to be amazed at, and I was not in this moment either.

“She has said that you will save them all, but that is all I’ve heard concerning my purpose.”

“Do you think she has chosen you to be a god?” He asks me, finally.

“I do not think so, but I think you have been chosen.” I answer.

He nods, “Well, my father is Zeus himself, so perhaps.”

I had heard this, that King Diomedes had sent his wife to lay with a god. That Theomedes had been born demigod, and his beauty, talent, and nature were not that of a mere mortal. I nod at him, before looking around.

“So, where exactly?”

“You are in the barracks. Not for soldiers, but for the boys and men my father harbors. Runaways, and exiles who came here with no other place to go. We assumed you fell into that category, based off of- well, you did walk across the desert.”

“No, it is fitting.”

“Well, I do not currently find myself in need of a soldier, but perhaps a friend?”

“I’m afraid I will make a shoddy friend, Prince.”

“But, of course, then we will make a fine pair. I, the golden boy, and you the shoddy friend.” He laughs, and his golden eyes twinkle happily.

“Perhaps, but for now, I will rest.” I told him, my energy sapped.

I do not know who the goddess was that took me to him, nor do I know why. I know I had been looking forward to being given a purpose, and had not thought it would be the title of ‘friend’. As Theomedeos footsteps fell out of ear shot, I curled into myself. I was in a new kingdom, yes. I had walked tirelessly to meet this golden prince, who does not need me. He does not find himself in need of a soldier, but of course. After all, what kind of soldier would I ever be? I trained, and never quite measured up to even the worst soldiers in my kingdom. I left what could have been a fine life behind for a purpose, not to be ‘friend’ of a prince. Not for this.

The next day I wake up to the sounds of the other boys clattering about. They are a loud bunch, or perhaps this is what content sounds like. I would not have known, as I had never felt contentment. I hopped from my own bed, and followed the string of boys to the dining hall. We were fed well. Breakfast was an assortment of colorful fruits, bread, and meat that was old but easy enough to eat. It was not what I expected. Then, we were taken to required training. We trained in the hot sun for hours, swords, spears, and riding. Of course, no kingdom would freely bring in runaways and exiles. What these men were training for was war: they were the property of the king, and his son. I suppose I was included in that now. I trained alongside them, but none of the boys ever tried to talk to me. Rumors began to circulate, ‘he walked the entire desert to get here.’ ‘He heard the voice of a goddess, he will die soon.’ But, I was used to cruelty from others, not this complete ignorance. It was peaceful, and I did not mind the routine of it. Except, I did not like fighting. When we sparred, I did not want to jab the sword at these people, or pretend to kill them. It held me back, and frustrated me that I could not go all out against them. I could not even pretend to kill. Eventually, I stopped going to the training altogether, consequences be damned. I had no talent for it, and I had been sent on here on a fool’s errand. I had wasted a year of my life to come here. I had seen Theomedeos once, and that had been the end of it. He probably took me for a lunatic, saying a goddess had sent me to follow him. Me, a mere mortal, had been sent here to help a boy who is on his way to godhood. What could I possibly do for him? So, I sat on the terrace I had discovered by chance. A place no one had come to, or followed me. I sat day after day watching the others fight, and laughed at one another as they left the sparring ring. I could never be a part of such joy, it was impossible for me to integrate myself into that.

“Well, look who I’ve found.” I don’t dare turn, but the voice is easily recognizable. Despite how much anger I’ve built up at the journey here, I cannot find it in myself to dislike Theomedeos. It makes sense that he has been given everything I do not have, he is fair, and well liked. He is a kind and truly a good person. Not like me, who is made up of half stone, and half snake. I was made in venom, and the poison has begun to sink its way into my heart. It has shaded me, and Theomedeos need never know the night as I have learnt it.

“You’re a hard man to find, you know that? None of the boys have even learnt your name. I have to search for you by asking if they’ve seen the gangly tan curly haired boy anywhere, and it’s quite annoying. It’s a lot to fit in a sentence. Much too long. So, is there a name I can call you?”

“Deo.”

“Ah, that’s much shorter, and easier to call.”

“Your name is a mouthful as well, Prince.”

“Theos, then, as I have always wished my friends to call me.”

I look at him, as he sits next to me. His legs are much longer than mine, and are muscled and pale where mine are tan and hollow seeming. I am a foil to him, as he will always have what I do not.

“You, Deo, have not been going to practice.” I look back down at the boys and men who smile openly, and pretend to slay one another.

“Yes.” I simply say, as there is nothing else.

“Have you been well?”

“I have.”

“And you still have not been going?” He asks again, looking at me as if I am a question he does not know the answer to.

“No, I have not.”

“Well, that does not sit well for you. It seems they wish to punish you for your absence.”

“It seems fair.”

His eyebrows lift, as he looks at me, and then he seems to soften as he sighs. “I do not think you came here to be whipped, or am I mistaken?”

“I do not know why I came. I am a lunatic for it. I could have made a life I knew.”

“Were you hoping I was-” He gestured about himself “more?”

“It is not you that I find confounding. It is myself. What could I possibly have to offer you? I cannot fight, that much is obvious. I cannot think straight in the heat. I follow voices, and a goddess has spoken to me which seems to mean I have a death sentence. I do not know why I have been sent to you, I only know it seems to have been a mistake, because there is nothing I have to offer.”

“But isn’t that the joy of it all? We do not know why you are, but you are here because we have a future that seems to be intertwined. It does not matter what you offer. It matters that you are here. That despite your lack of preparedness, you walked across the whole desert to find me. You did not eat well for months, you found a horse named after a goddess who took you in this direction. It is a song, just waiting to be written. A tale, so far, left untold. Do you not think we should spend our time trying to tell it?” And this was what I came to know Theos as. He was a story, raveled into itself, with a million ideas each brighter and braver than the next. A man I was destined to know.

“So, then, we must create an excuse for you. Where have you been these past few days instead of training?”

“I have been here.” I tell him, not daring to lie.

“You have not, I have witnessed it myself. You have been with the men.”

“I shan’t lie to the King.”

“Then, you have been with me, as you are today.”

I look at him skeptically, “But, I have not. I will take the consequence, Theos. It is my own doing.”

“Tell me, Deo. What is to stop you from being killed for this?”

“I do not know.”

“Me, I stand between you and the precipice. So, allow me to offer you a bargain. Your help, for mine.”

“My help?”

“Yes, your future courageous actions.”

“For?”

“Me telling the King we have become dear friends.”

“You did not even know my name before today.”

“I did not.”

I look at him, and he is smiling. He shines, brighter than anyone I have ever seen before, like the forest as the sun is falling.

“I did not know you at all before you came here. We have much to learn about one another.”