FIRE IN THE BLOOD

The sun is bright, it’s a cloudless day in Kontotis. My brothers push me as they come out of the house, running in the streets of Pardellis. They have too much energy for eight-year-olds. I close the door of the house behind me, even if I doubt that anyone will bother trying to rob it. We don’t have anything of value anymore.

I stroll around the village, toward the square where the farmer’s market has been set up, like every morning. It takes me quite a distance to walk since we live on the far edge of the town. I miss the old house, but it was too big, and we had little money. At least the new house is easier to clean. It’s small. It’s more like a cabin anyway.

I can finally see the stands of the market. I find my brothers in the crowd in front of the baker’s stand. Raphael pockets two biscuits, Gabriel is talking to the baker, as a distraction.

I appear behind the twins, shadowing the top of their heads. I lower my head in between theirs and whisper in both of their ears, “if you try to steal anything else I will drag you both to the underworld and feed you to Cerberus myself”.

“You always say that, and nothing ever happens” mutter Gabriel grabbing Raphael by the arm and drawing him toward the next stand.

Maybe I need to be more convincing. They are used to my threats. I grab them both by the shoulder and turn them around. Do they really think I’ll let them go so easily? I look at them in turns, eyelids lowered and dead in the eyes. I learned that from the scary guys in the Taverna. “Do you remember the scar that I’ve got on my left rib?”

They nod jointly in remembrance.

“When mom died, I followed her to the underworld. At the entrance, I faced Cerberus and he gave me this scar” my tone is chillingly flat. I see the fear rise in their eyes. Good, that means it’s working. “I still remember the way. I could take you there anytime I see fit.”

It must be because of the slight malicious smile taking shape on my face, but the two boys start running and begging for their lives to not be taken to the underworld. Raphael even throws the biscuits on the ground to make sure that I would not use them against him. I can’t help but chuckle. Those boys are the light of my day. Seeing them laugh and run makes all the hardship of raising them worth it.

As I stand straight again, I hear a strange sound coming from a little alley not so far away. As I get closer to investigate the sound becomes clearer. It’s a dog yelping. I turn to the corner, into the alley and I can see three men beating up a dog. The worst is that knowing some of the men of this town I am pretty sure that they are doing this out of pleasure. Sick bastards. I can feel the blood pumping in my veins. I will never understand how some people can have fun hurting harmless creatures.

“Hey stop that! Would you like it if I did this to you?” I interrupt them.

They stop at the sound of my voice. Three sets of eyes are now focused on me. One of them, a tall slim blond man, starts walking toward me with his lips turned downward. His eyebrows get dangerously close to one another. I know what he is about to do. I can see it in his body language. But I need a reason to engage in the fight, so I let him. He pushes me. I stumble back a few steps. I curl up my hand into a fist. The three men are now standing in front of me. The blond one is in the middle and backed up by the others. The one on the left is a different kind of eery: tall, and basically skin and bones. The other one, on the right, is small and his hair is shiny with oil. Yuck.

“Aren’t you Achilleas the drunkard’s daughter?” the blond one says giving me a smug look.

I can’t wait until I can beat it off of his face.

The small one follows “my parents say that one day he will just sell you and your brothers to be slaves in Elktra.” He starts laughing with the tall sack of bones. The blond one is still focused on me a bigger grin pulling on his lips.

I lower my eyes. I wish their words would not affect me but the idea that my father would be very capable of doing this and hearing it on some dog beating bastard makes it way worse. Before I can even start to process it, I am dashing toward the blond man. I tackle him to the ground. He did not expect it and I can read the terror on his face as I start to throw punches. My fist stings but the satisfaction of seeing his nose bleed is too great to stop. My fury is cut short as the two other guys grab me by the shoulders.

In a fight, you should never be below your opponent. I learned that the hard way. I kick the thin one in the leg, and he releases me enough for me to make my escape. I have to get out of this alley. Three to one are not the best odds. I start running toward the square.

“Don’t let her go! Let’s teach this bitch how to behave.” I don’t need to turn around to recognise the blond man’s voice. I can hear him spitting what I presume is blood. Good, he deserved it.

I finally arrive at the end of the alley, the footsteps behind me are getting closer so I don’t stop. I continue running to the middle of the square. The streets are mostly dirt stones, I wish there could be grass at least if I fell it wouldn’t hurt that much. The people are stopping their shopping to look at the scene. I know that no one is going to help me. I am not important. I am the drunkard’s daughter. I don’t mind them watching, at least I can put on a show and if they are enough entertained, I might even win some drachmas. I stop running. I am never going to win a race against those men, my legs are too short. I turn around to find them stopping three feet away from me.

You know what. Fuck it.

I charge toward them and bring the small guy down with me. If my fist was stinging before, now it is probably bleeding. I make punches rain on his face.

But I am pulled by the hair, forced to my knees. I try to get out of the grip of the bleeding blond son of a bitch. But my thoughts are interrupted by the hard kick inflicted on my jaw. I can feel blood coating the inside of my mouth. My eyes are barely open from the pain spreading in my face. But I still have some strength in me. I stop the tall man’s foot in mid-air with my free hands, and I twist it to throw him off balance. He falls to the ground. I am flung backwards, and I lend on my ass. Before I can even start to get back up the last standing guy starts driving back and forth his foot into my ribs and stomach. I am pretty sure I can hear the cracking of bones.

Laying on the ground I can feel myself slowly slipping away. But if I faint now who’s to say that I will ever wake up. Who will feed my brothers? Clean the house? Help my father get into bed when he comes back home totally wasted?

My blood boils in my veins, and the adrenaline kicks in. I avoid the last hit as I roll to the side. Standing up is hard but I manage. The blood is coming out of my face and dripping on my green tunic. It was my favourite. One more reason to kill him.

“By the gods!” the blond man swears. He must have thought I was already gone.

I grab him by the neckline of his shirt, pulling him close enough for me to whisper in his ear. “I met the gods, and they had nothing nice to say about you.” I bite his ear and tear it straight off. Blood sprays everywhere. I spit the piece of flesh still in my mouth.

He falls to his knees screeching, holding what is left of his right ear. The others are stumbling back and running away as I gaze in their direction. I look at the crowd who stopped to watch. I recognise some of the faces. They saw me grow. Some have children I used to play with as a child.

Now they stare at me petrified, whispering, judging, letting me bleed. My hand returns to a fist position. I think I broke my knuckle because I feel an excruciating pain shooting from my wrist to my entire body. I bite the inside of my mouth to stop my face from cringing. I am not going to give them the satisfaction of seeing me crack.

I close my eyes, release my fist, and empty my head. I have to get myself cleaned up. I take a deep breath and re-open my eyes, I am still in the middle of the street. I dust myself off in a smooth gesture, unexpectedly elegant in contrast to my bloody mucky appearance.

And I stagger back to the house, still feeling eyes following me. Stepping inside I don’t see anything fallen or broken which means that Father hasn’t come home yet. Usually, he comes home early in the morning and it’s like he brings an entire hurricane with him. I don’t hear Raphael and Gabriel either. They must be out somewhere. They never wander too far so I don’t worry. They never bring more than a broken arm which is better than death. Right.

Passing the threshold of the house, standing in the living room, kitchen, and dining room, I assess the smallness of our cabin. At the far end of the room, there is a door leading to the bedroom I share with my brothers. we only have a small fireplace in the main room, and since the walls are basically thin planks of wood, I do not complain about having to share a bed with them. I get close to the small kitchen area. On the filthy counter, there is a rag. That will have to do.

I leave the house again, still stumbling, I go to the nearest stream, leaving a trail of blood behind me. It is in the forest, away from the judging eyes. I often come here when I am done with all my duties or when I need to clean myself up. I like the sound of the water crashing on the stones, the singing of birds and the whistling of the wind in the leaves of trees. There it feels like time stands still.

I Kneel on the stones pulling the skirt of my tunic above my knees, so it doesn’t get dirtier. I dump the rag in the stream, soaking it with water and bringing it to my face. The freshness coming in contact with my skin sends a chill through my body. I wash the blood off, and the wounds are closing if not already gone. I can still remember my mother telling me that I was blessed by the gods with inhumanly fast healing. That is fortunate for me since I get easily hurt. It is not usual for a girl to have to fight for herself but since my brothers are too young to defend me and my father is a useless piece of shit, I have to do everything myself. I don’t think that my short temper plays in my favour.

I get up and sit a little farther away from the stream. I lay back on my elbows, on a patch of soft grass, inclining my head back to look up at the sky showing through the branches and leaves. The movement of my head makes my dark blond hair, go free, from a messy single braid, and then fall on my back and shoulders. I lay back a little further, spreading my arms on each side of my body, feeling the strands of grass between my fingers. My eyelids seem to get heavier, and it gets harder to keep my eyes open. Before I can notice I am taken by Morpheus.

☼☼☼

Something wet is stroking my face, bringing me back to the forest and stream. What in Eros’ name is going on? I open my eyes to find a dog hovering above my face, his tongue is hanging out of his mouth almost in contact with my cheek. I get back to a sitting position turning slightly around to take a good look at the animal, which saliva is still lingering on my cheek. It’s the dog from earlier, a bloodhound, he looks at me with smiling eyes. Sadly, he doesn’t have the same healing abilities as me. His fur is blood red. I can’t see any apparent wounds, but if he is still standing it means that his condition is not as bad as his colour indicates.

“Hey, you. how did you find me?” my voice comes out hoars from sleeping all afternoon. I bring my hand to the dog’s head and start scratching between his ears.

“He wanted to thank you” the mysterious voice comes from behind the dog, a little further away.

I blink a couple of times to get the man in focus. He is taller than me, with mid-length curly black hair. He is standing next to a tree one hand resting on the trunk. He is wearing a midnight sky tunic with leather pants and a black skin-tight coat. With a belt holding a couple of knives wrapped around his waist. From the distance, I can’t really see the details of his face. “You almost died for him, he better be thankful.”

I rise to my feet, straightening my dress. The dog’s tail is wagging side to side. He must be happy to see that I am well too. “it’s okay, those guys needed a little reality check anyway.” I say rubbing my eyes to help them rehabilitate to the light.

He looks at me up and down and it makes me feel weirdly seen. I don’t like it. He shifts on his feet before I can say anything, leaving the tree’s side, turning around whistling to the dog, ordering him to come with him. “Aren’t you going to thank me for saving your dog?” I ask him, stopping him mid-walk.

He looks over his shoulder not bothering to turn around. “He is not my dog.”

I want to argue but the man continues walking, slowly fading through the forest. What an odd character. I don’t think that I have ever seen him before. The village is not that big, and I know almost everyone. He must be a traveller.

The sun is setting. Fuck. I didn’t think it was that late. I pick the rag up from the ground. I have to get back to the house to prepare dinner. I pick up the pace. Running through the forest avoiding low branches. The ground is cracking under my feet. I see the edge of the woods. Running across the field that is separating the forest and the cabin I feel like I am soaring through the air. In little moments like this, I feel oddly free and happy.

At home I find the boys covered in mud playing sword fighting. I am actually impressed that they didn’t destroy the cabin, it shows some skill.

“Where have you been Hera? We heard that a maniac beat three men’s asses next to the market.” Gabriel asks still focused on Raphael. He gives the killing blow, sliding his wooden sword under his brother’s armpit. He does a little victory dance while Raphael is falling to the ground dying like in every Greek tragedy.

I don’t want to answer, they don’t need to know and it’s not like they can see it on my face, all my wounds are already gone. I go to the kitchen area hiding the rag in a drawer knowing full well that no one ever goes in the kitchen apart from me. I put on an apron. Not being fully sure why, since my tunic is filthy, but I put it on anyway at least it can hide a bit of the blood still splattered on me.

“go wash yourselves while I prepare diner.”

I hear them mutter in opposition. I turn around giving them the evil eye which strikes them to action. They pick up their wooden swords and run off into the garden to the well. That is where we go when it’s too late to go to the stream. It is not the most optimal but it’s manageable.

I start cutting vegetables for a soup. We can’t afford meat and sadly I am not the best huntress. The last time I tried, I caught a rabbit, and I couldn’t bring myself to kill it, so I let the twins adopt it and now he lives in our garden. We call him Jeffrey. We eat meat only for really important events. Like mom’s burying ceremony. It was before Father became a drunkard. Before the twins were old enough to eat with us, before we had to sell the house when the people of the village would help us, they wouldn’t just stare at us bleeding in the middle of the street.

Just. breath.

I release the knife that I had clutched in my hand. Putting my hands flat on the counter. Bending my head down, my hair still loose now curtaining my face. Sometimes it feels like a tornado is swelling up inside of me and there are times I almost want to let it implode. Letting all that anger out. But each time, I see the faces of my brothers smiling, the happy times when we spend time together and the earth seems to stop rotating. I am their rock and I have to resist the pressure of the powerful stream of life.

I get back to cutting vegetables.

After a while, they come back cleaned and dressed in their nightshirts.

“Sit.”

I set two bowls of soup with a piece of half-eaten stale bread. They sit, eager to eat. We can’t always find the time to eat for lunch. At least they are not difficult food-wise. They never complain, which astonishes me, considering the life that they are leaving compared to the other children of the village, to the one I had before their birth. I wave a hand as a sign for them to begin eating. As I watch them dig into their soup I wonder where Father is. He is usually home by now, getting ready to go back out. It is not the first time that he does that, but each time my mind goes wild, and I can’t help but imagine him dead somewhere in a bush or something. I am always wrong, my father is not easy to kill, like a sneaky rat. But what if today I am right. Family is important, I know. But that would be a lie if I said that I would be saddened by the news of my father’s death. My brothers on the other hand would be destroyed. And that petrifies me.

“Eat without me, I need to go out for a bit. When you are finished, wash your plates, and go to bed. And mark my word if you don’t do as I say Cerberus will have fresh twin’s meat for breakfast.”

They nod so fast that I get scared that they might get whiplash. I take off my apron setting it on the counter. As I close the door, I can’t help but give one last long gaze at my brothers, who are happily eating. I might be over-protective of them but it’s because I love them. I have never loved anyone other than Gabriel and Raphael and I have never been loved by others than the twins.

I head to the Taverna, where my Father spends all of his evenings when he isn’t at the whore’s house or pissing on the old neighbour’s lawn. Walking there I feel the chill air cutting like knives on my face. It is already night out and the streets are illuminated by the lights coming through the windows of houses, the stars and the beautiful Selene, goddess of the moon, ridding after Helios. I enter the Taverna, the heat bringing back some life to my frozen face. From the entrance, I scan the room, it is crowded, and I can’t see anything. I get close enough to the bar to be able to talk to Lory the barmaid who is serving drinks to already drunk men. She is a tall woman with platinum blond hair, tied in braids crisscrossing the back of her head. She has broad shoulders which makes her look really intimidating. I guess it is good knowing that she is always surrounded by men who can’t control themselves when they see a pretty girl walk by. She sees me trying to get her attention by jumping up and down because a gigantic man is standing between me and the bar and hiding me behind his colossal figure.

“Looking for your poor excuse of a father, I suppose?” She calls out.

“Have you seen him?” I enquire. She points to the back of the room where my father is sitting at a table surrounded by people. What has he done now?

I make my way to him squeezing through the crowd trying to apologize as I continue my odyssey of hand touching and body musk. I can finally see a little bit more of the scene. My father is sitting across from a big muscular man with white hair and a bushy beard. His face has a few remarkable scars and a tattoo on his hand. He must be in his 50s, but he looks still very capable of killing a giant if he wanted to. Behind him are standing twins, looking around my age. They are both taller than me and have broad muscular shoulders. They look almost identical if it wasn’t for the colour of their hair, one is ginger, and the other is a little bit blonder. Even if I am distracted by the pushing of the crowd around me, I can still see that their features are beautifully sculpted. They have a cute button nose, downturned green eyes, and thin lips. They are smiling like foxes about to launch at their prey. Beyond them, a fourth man is resting on the wall, arms crossed head bent, not bothering to look at the game. He looks oddly familiar.

I finally see properly my father’s face, devastated staring at the cards laying on the table in front of him. My gut caves In. What have we lost today?

Someone whispers in his ear, making my father whips his head in my direction, eyes widening. I am used to seeing him miserable, but it doesn’t mean that I don’t feel empathy. The big scary man sitting across the table from Achilleas mumbles something that I can’t hear, which makes Father turn back to face him. He closes his eyes inclining his head in defeat. A few heartbeats later he extends a hand toward the man. An agreement has been made. I have a strange feeling in my stomach. My father stands up. I take a few more steps to meet him next to the table. I glance at the four men. They are dressed in leather coats with shoulder and breast plates armour, the older one having white fur draped over his left shoulder and all of them heavily armed. Mercenaries.

I turn back to my father and start yelling “where have you been I was worried”, no I wasn’t, “the boys have been asking questions”, they haven’t, “tell me you still have some money left to feed us? “.

He pulls a little bag of drachmas out of his pants’ pocket, not meeting my gaze. “I almost lost it.” His voice is empty of any emotions, which sends chills down my spine.

I am mad, disappointed, shocked that he didn’t lose it all. “you won? That must be a first” I say with a touch of scolding in my voice.

“No, I didn’t…” he mutters still avoiding looking in my eyes.

What…

“I don’t-”

The mysterious man in the back cuts in “He lost you.”

I…

My blood freezes as the realisation of what has been said settles in my head. I want to laugh, cry, maybe yell and kick. But all I can feel is shame. I am ashamed that the bastard of that morning was right, he said it, my father sold me off, no, worst, he lost me at a game of cards. I take a long deep breath and break the silence that has taken over the entire Taverna.

“Look at me.” I take his chin, yanking it up to force him to meet my gaze. I want him to suffer. “I hope it was worth it.” I think about running away. But where? And what will they do to my Achilleas? To my brothers?

I know.

They would ask for the money and my brothers would probably starve to death or steal and one day get caught and have to pay the consequences. They don’t deserve that kind of life.

“They are your sons.” Anger flashes in my ocean-deep eyes. Making him shiver. “If they die under your care while I am gone, I’ll kill you myself, father or not.”

I pull my hand away from his chin and his body gives up, collapsing on the ground like a soulless piece of flesh. I stare down at him. He has done that to himself. I have always been here to pull him up. I had to fend for myself, and he dares to be looking soulless? I can feel the sting of tears rising in my eyes, but I refuse to give the people of the Taverna the satisfaction of seeing me break so I start rushing toward the exit. I can’t breathe. I am drowning in a sea of emotions, in the crowd of eyes staring at me with pity. I don’t want their pity, I want air! The room feels like it is closing in on me. Trapping me between its four walls. I see the door and burst it open. I don’t like to show my emotion, it is a sign of weakness. I continue running a little bit to the next street. Far away enough to escape the sound of the Taverna.

What just happened? I can’t just leave my brothers with Achilleas. Why did those mercenaries even agree to take me with them? What perverse plan do they have in store for me?

The weight of my body seems now impossible to hold up and I can feel my knees buckle below me. On the ground, I taste the saltiness of tears rolling down my face and sliding in my mouth. It’s not until I stop that I realise that my breathing was really fast. I look up at the beautiful gracious moon.

“Selene what am I supposed to do?”

“Come with us.” The male voice comes from behind me.

I shift to look back at the four men standing. The one who spoke is the oldest man with white hair. On his right, the twins are looking with a strange light in their eyes. On the left of what I presume is the leader, is the guy who was resting on the wall. He is holding a dog in his arms.

“We met at the stream”, I say to him, wiping away the tears. “I thought he wasn’t your dog?”

He takes a few steps closer. “He isn’t, but I grew to like him.” He sets the dog down, who rushes toward me and starts licking my tears away. Now that he is closer, I can see his face more clearly. He has a tan face with dark blue eyes, resembling a stormy ocean, a Greek nose, and cheekbones that could cut through glass. He crosses his arms looking down at me, lips in a line, and one eyebrow slightly raised. His face is impossible to read.

I am so focused on him that I do not see the leader of the mercenaries walking toward me and extending his right hand as an offer to stand up until he is there shadowing me from the light of the moon with his massive figure. I want to hate those men. They are taking me away from my brothers. They are mercenaries which means they kill others for money. They could do horrible things to me. If they are like the men of this village I won’t last long. A mouse in a pit full of starving snakes. I look at his big hand. I want to refuse, to protest, to stand up and kill the four of them with my bare shaking hands, but I am weak. From the battle of this morning, the fast healing at the stream and the explosion of emotions caused by Achilleas. If I tried to stand up by myself, I might fall right back on my ass. I wipe my face one last time with the long sleeve of my tunic.

I grab his hand, which is rough and dry undermine. I stare down at his tattoo, black swirls, going from his fingers and continuing on his arm. My knees shake as he pulls me back to my feet. I stumble forward grasping his left forearm, catching myself on him and embalming myself in his citrusy smell. Once I am balanced, I look up finding his hooded eyes stuck on me.

“one day and we go home with two strays.” His gravelly voice sends shivers down my spine.

I have only been with them for a few heartbeats I am already being compared to a dog.

Great.