Chapter 21: The Odyssey (Part 1)
Alexios set down his roundshield and spear, pressing himself flat between the rocks. He carefully fed a thin plastic tube into the narrow crevice and sucked greedily at the water pooled within.
After just five or six swallows, he felt life return. He stopped drinking. Instead, he let the water fill his mouth, then turned and spat it into his empty waterskin. He repeated this a dozen times until the skin was nearly full.
Alexios stoppered the skin and passed it back. The boy behind him, Lykurgos, who was keeping watch with his bow, took it without hesitation. He drank until it was about half-empty, then passed it to the last member of their group.
Alexios glanced at his cousin, Aurelian, before returning to his work. The three of them—his brother Lykurgos and his cousin Aurelian—were on their "Odyssey" together.
The locals called this great trial "The Odyssey." Boys between the ages of 10 and 15, in groups of no more than three, would set out from their homes in Lacedaemon. Their goal: to reach the Sanctuary of the Forged Steel Angels, a fortress set in the middle of the Great Sea, within the allotted time.
The journey led through dangerous wilderness and treacherous mountains. The Angels had forbidden anyone from offering them aid—not that there was anyone out here to ask. They were allowed only cold-steel weapons, and no "advanced technology." The definition of "advanced" was strict: not even a promethium-lighter was permitted.
They had been walking for six days. Their food was nearly gone, and until this moment, their water was spent. Alexios knew they were lucky to find this seep; they would have died of thirst otherwise. They had to move faster. The map they carried was clear, but the reality of the terrain was something else. If they were late, the Angels would reject them.
After refilling their waterskins and checking their position by the stars, they made camp. They had to rest. Night-travel in this terrain was madness. They split the duties: gathering wood, striking a fire with flint and steel, and setting the watch. Alexios and his brother, Lykurgos, took the first watch-sleep. They unstrapped their bronze muscle-cuirasses, wrapped their red cloaks tight, and fell into an exhausted sleep.
In his dreams, Alexios saw his father—the King of Lacedaemon. He saw him on the city walls, cut down by a las-beam during the parley. His father had been strong and majestic, wise and brave. He had taught his sons the Lacedaemonian way. He had ruled side-by-side with the other king, and together they had made their city-state strong.
The enemy had murdered him during a sacred parley—a treacherous, honorless act. He remembered his uncle, the other king, roaring in fury and leading a sally-port, smashing the cowardly besiegers. They were weaklings, no match for the true warriors of Lacedaemon.
It was only when the Angels themselves descended that the gates were breached. The lead Angel stood before the second king and demanded his surrender. The king, his father's partner, proudly demanded a duel of honor.
The king cast his spear, striking the Angel square in the chestplate. It bounced harmlessly. He drew his xiphos, locked his shield, and charged. The Angel shattered the shield and the arm behind it with a single, contemptuous backhand.
The king ignored the ruined limb, striking at the Angel's knee, a blow meant to sever the tendon. The blade sparked and skidded off. Undeterred, the king lunged, thrusting his broken sword at the Angel's abdomen. The blade snapped against the ceramite.
The Angel drew his combat knife and, in one motion, took the king's head.
He had struck the Angel three times. It was a glorious death.
The blood of their two kings had purchased their privilege. Lacedaemon had surrendered, but on its own terms. They were allowed to keep their ancient faiths—Ares, Zeus, and the old pantheon. They kept their own laws and military, and they answered to no Planetary Governor. They had sworn fealty only to the Angels.
In exchange, they would provide the Angels with recruits. They would provide mortal soldiers for their armies and aspirants for their ranks. For they were the bravest, and the brave must follow the strong, to fight in the sea of stars.
Alexios was lost in these memories when a sharp whisper—"Trouble!"—jerked him awake. It was Aurelian's voice. He instinctively grabbed his spear. Lykurgos was already on his feet, nocking an arrow.
"What is it?" Alexios hissed, strapping his roundshield to his forearm as he rose.
"Movement," Aurelian whispered, peering into the darkness. "I saw shadows."
Alexios didn't need to ask more. He knew who it was. Other aspirants, on their own Odyssey. They were here for supplies. Their own food was gone; the attackers must be just as desperate.
No time to don his cuirass. Alexios kicked dirt and sand onto the campfire, plunging their camp into darkness. A fire just made them a target. The three grabbed their packs and fell back to the rock crevice that held their water. Alexios, spear and shield, took the left. Aurelian, with his own shield and sword, took the right. Lykurgos stood between them, arrow drawn.
They heard them now—skittering footsteps in the dark, the rustle of leather. They held their ground, not to defend the water, but because to run now would be to expose their backs.
A sudden hiss from the darkness. Alexios raised his shield on instinct. A heavy thud as a javelin bit deep into the shield's iron rim. Lykurgos was fast, loosing three arrows blindly into the night, one after the other, toward the sound.
A sharp cry of pain. Then three figures burst from the shadows. Boys, their own age, one already clutching an arrow in his shoulder. They charged with spears and shortswords, their faces contorted with desperation. The bow was useless at this range; Lykurgos dropped it and drew his sword. Six boys, with no personal feud, locked in a battle to the death for the chance to be chosen.
Alexios locked his shield and lunged. His opponent, wielding a spear two-handed, parried the thrust and brought his own spear down in an overhead chop. Alexios caught it on his shield, then swung the butt of his own spear, cracking the boy hard across the temple. The boy staggered, dazed. Alexios remembered his father's voice: 'A helmet is always a good idea, son.'
He didn't give the boy time to recover, driving his spear-point straight through his chest.
Alexios tore his spear free and looked. Lykurgos had finished his own opponent, a deep gash in the boy's throat. Aurelian's foe was also dead. They had won.
Then his cousin turned, and Alexios saw the javelin shaft protruding from his abdomen.
They both stared, frozen. "I'll get the medicinal herbs," Lykurgos stammered, "and the wine..."
But it was useless. Aurelian, who had been fighting on sheer adrenaline, suddenly collapsed, vomiting a dark stream of blood. Alexios, from the lessons given by the Angels' mortal auxiliaries, knew the sign: a ruptured liver.
Unless one of the Angels' "flyers" appeared now and carried him to a proper medicae, he was dead. But that wouldn't happen. They had accepted the Odyssey. This was the price.
The two brothers knelt beside him, helpless.
"Alexios," Aurelian whispered, his breath shallow. "I'm... so cold."
They covered him with their own cloaks.
"I... I regret it, Alexios. Maybe I don't need to be an Angel... Maybe... just being an auxiliary would have been..."
The brothers just gripped his hands tighter.
"Lykurgos," he coughed, a fleck of blood on his lips. "I'm sorry I stole your black soup ration... I... I didn't think you'd earned it..."
"'Alexios... I can't see. It's all dark... I... I take it back... I don't want to be an Angel... I just want to go home..."
Alexios's face was stone. He stood, raised his spear, and drove the point down into his cousin's temple. A quick end.
They gathered the supplies from the dead, their packs now full. They worked in silence. The cousin who had grown up with them, who had brawled with them and defended them from bullies, was dead.
As they shouldered their packs, Lykurgos finally spoke, his voice cracking. "Brother... aren't we going to bury him?"
Alexios stared at the body, his expression hard. "We don't have time."
He pointed a trembling finger toward the lightening sky, where dark shapes had begun to circle. "The scavengers of Ares," he said, his voice hollow. "The vultures will take him."