Echoes of Olympus (The Atheniad Book 1)

by Darrin Drader

  After sitting with the soldier for days, she decided that it was time to do something productive, even if she wasn’t sure whether it would actually improve their situation in any way. “If you are to be my champion, you will need armor and weapons.”

  She had already cleaned and bound his wounds to the best of her ability, and she had forced him to swallow water. Of course he had choked on a good amount of that and ended up throwing up much of it, but she was reasonably sure that enough made it into his stomach that it would prevent him from dying of thirst. “Standing watch over you will not make you heal any faster,” she said.

  With that, Thermiandra stepped away from the wounded soldier and began walking back toward the battlefield. She splashed into the river water, thankful to feel the cool on this hot day. Crossing to the other side took only moments, and then she walked along the shore until she arrived at the scene of the battle. The smell of human carrion immediately assailed her nostrils, and she tried unsuccessfully to avoid retching. She wiped her mouth, then began to retrace her steps to the point where she had found the warrior. A short time later, she found the trail in the sand where she remembered finding him crawling. Eventually she arrived at a place where the sand was thick with the brown of dried blood, as well as the bodies of a pair of Persian soldiers and their horses. She suspected that she’d find a cuirass nearby that fit her soldier, but she was surprised to find none. Instead, she searched the other corpses in the area, hoping to find another one nearby of roughly the same size, and still in armor.

  As she looked at the fallen bodies, she noted the carrion birds feasting on the dead. They were everywhere, tearing strips of flesh from the carcasses and plucking at appendages and eyeballs. She saw a body not far away that was missing both eyes and two of its fingers, and the now gray-colored intestines had been strung through its abdomen. Thermiandra suppressed the urge to vomit again as she walked among the dead. The birds were eyeing her greedily.

  Roughly twenty feet from where she stood, she noticed the body of a dead Greek soldier that was about the right size. The top of the man’s head had been cleaved and chunks of dried brains littered the sand, but the armor appeared solid and was made of bronze, which had been polished to a mirror finish. The shoulder blades were protected with thick metal plates, and the kilt was brown leather. A vulture sat upon the dead man’s neck, pecking away at the soft tissue that remained in and around the head.

  Thermiandra ran at the bird screaming and fanning her arms, hoping to intimidate it into flying away. Instead, the bird sat there defiantly, ready to defend the delicacy it had found. Thermiandra swatted at the avian’s head, only to be met with an open beak. She felt a sharp pain in her palm, and she immediately withdrew her hand and moved back. A few feet away was a dead Persian soldier with a spear by his side. Thermiandra picked up the weapon and approached the vulture once again, jabbing it toward the bird. It looked at her as if daring her to actually use it. She did not disappoint the creature as she jabbed forward and connected, breaking the skin, but she stopped short of causing any serious damage. The bird squawked and then grudgingly flew away from its feast. “Don’t worry. I’ll let you have it back,” Thermiandra promised the bird, which flapped its wings defiantly as it moved away.

  She easily unbuckled the armor and removed it from the fallen soldier’s torso. She then found a closed-faced Greek helmet with a red plume on another fallen soldier. She took that, as well as the sword that was strapped to his chest and then made her way back down the river bank. A short time later, she again stood over the wounded soldier, who remained pale, shivering, and unconscious. “Well, I have some armor for you, though I still have my doubts about whether you’ll ever be able to wear it. It might even be better stuff than you had to begin with. Most of the soldiers out there were wearing leather.” As usual, there was no response from the soldier other than an unconscious groan.

  “Try not to get too excited about it,” she said.

  Thermiandra first became aware of them the following day.

  Huddled under her tree with the feverish soldier, she was starting to note how the wounds in his back were beginning to look cleaner and less inflamed. It appeared that the tissue was closing up, though she suspected that the severity of the wound meant that it would still be some time before he made a recovery, if such a thing were possible. A wound like this would have killed most men, whether they died from their injuries, or the infection that would inevitably follow.

  Since retrieving the soldier, she had returned to the battlefield several times in search of reasonably clean chitons and other clothing items that would allow her to pack the wound. She had sliced the fabric into strips with her knife, packed his njuries, and then wrapped his wounds with the clothing’s remains. The bleeding had slowed to a trickle on the first day, but the fever had set in shortly after that. It was now the fourth day since the battle and he still had not regained consciousness. She remained doubtful of his recovery.

  Sitting in the shade beneath the tree, Thermiandra could see the five figures approaching from the south. They were still at least a quarter of a mile away, but even at that distance, she recognized them. One was her adopted father’s primary contact with the Persian Empire and the other four were Persian soldiers. They’d been following her for the past three weeks, but she hadn’t seen any sign of them since she had snuck into their camp more than a week ago... They were there to bring her back, or worse, kill her for deserting the polis. The land was at war and they probably suspected her as a traitor.

  It was another hot day, and she crouched down, hoping that the heat waves rising from the ground were creating a mirage that would conceal her. She knew that she could use this to her advantage, but she also knew that her window of escape was limited. She looked at the soldier and realized that she would have no chance at all of avoiding her pursuers if she were to try to somehow bring him with her. She prayed to the gods that the soldiers would leave him in peace while they focused on her.

  Her heart began to pound as panic set in. She quickly moved to the opposite side of the tree as she considered her options. The men were covering ground rapidly. In all likelihood, they’d found her by tracking her sandal prints through the sand. Over the past few days, she had made several trips to the water. This could work in her favor because her tracks were concentrated in one area and they couldn’t be tracked after entering the river.

  The ground between her tree and the river was mostly flat, but there were several small rocky hills between her and the approaching men. None of them were more than a couple feet high, though, so they would not be large enough to provide proper cover at short range. The combination of the low hills plus the mirage created by the heat rising from the sand might obscure their vision just enough for her to make it to the river undetected, if she stayed low.

  Despite the smooth sandy portions of the beach, there were also portions of it that consisted of sharp rocky outcroppings nearby. The Macedonian army had crossed the river just to the south of her position because it was easiest to ford there. The area near the tree had several boulders. She might climb into the water and hide behind them in hopes that the soldiers would not spot her. She strongly suspected that capture would mean death… or worse.

  The figures were moving slowly, turning periodically to glance across the water. She could not see them clearly, but they appeared to be more interested in their immediate surroundings than they were in her tree. It was the perfect opportunity to make her escape.

  Thermiandra ducked her head and crouched as low as she could without actually touching the sand with her hands, and then began to run toward the river bank. She looked in the direction of the soldiers and could only barely make them out as shadowy shapes in the distance. From her position, they were obscured by the heat rising from the sand, so she assumed that she too would look like nothing more than a shadow to them, if they were looking in her direction at all.

  The river bank was roughly fifty feet from the tree, an
d she covered that ground in a matter of seconds. Once she hit the boulders, she saw that there was a slight rocky overhang, and a five foot drop into the water below. She breathed a sigh of relief when she saw that the largest boulder atop the overhang protruded outward, blocking direct line of sight to the hollow directly underneath it. If any of the men simply climbed down toward the water from the high point, they would be able to see. She decided to take her chances and pray to the gods that they did not do that.

  Thermiandra slowly moved out over the edge of the boulder, then dropped down into the river. She felt the silty earth beneath the flowing water, searching for rocks that were large enough to use as handholds. It took little time to find a few that were large and heavy enough for her to grab onto and use to maneuver herself. Satisfied that she was concealed, she held on and waited.

  Several long minutes passed. She slowed her breathing and reached deep within herself to find the calm that she would need to stay still and keep a clear head. If they had seen her from the distance, they would have come running, so she knew that she was thus far undiscovered. A few minutes later, she heard the sound of the men nearby. They were talking, but she was unable to hear what they were saying from this distance. She guessed that they were at the tree and had found the half-dead soldier.

  Footsteps approached from near the top of the boulder she had jumped from. More than one of them was moving in her direction. She guessed that there were at least three, possibly all five, based on the number of footfalls she heard. As they approached, their words were becoming clearer.

  “Do you think these are her tracks?” one of the men asked.

  She heard the familiar voice of the Persian administrator. “It’s possible, but I can’t be certain.”

  “I would think that if she had come through this way, she would have obscured her tracks by moving through the battlefield,” said one of the soldiers.

  “It would have been wise,” agreed the administrator. “It also would appear that the tracks do not move very far north. I’m guessing that she has spent some amount of time near that tree and the dying soldier.”

  “And what do you make of that? Do you think she came here to meet him?” the soldier asked.

  “Doubtful,” said the administrator. “She probably arrived after the battle. She found the wounded soldier among the dead and realized that he might be able to protect her, if he recovered from his wounds. When he did not recover, she decided to move on without him. She is not a stupid girl. In all likelihood, she abandoned the soldier here to die and then left the area through the battlefield, knowing that it would take us a long time to find where her trail resumes.”

  “What of the soldier then? Should we kill him?”

  “That marking on his shoulder makes me nervous,” the administrator replied. “The gods of the Greeks are powerful. That mark on his shoulder looks like a bull. It’s the mark of Zeus, and I seriously doubt that the father of their gods would take kindly to the cold-blooded slaying of one of his. The gods of the Greeks are petty and vengeful. He may be fair game on the field of battle, but he will not die here and now by my command. No, we will let him live. From the looks of it, he’ll die without our help anyway.”

  Thermiandra quietly breathed a sigh of relief. They were not going to harm her soldier, and they were convinced that she had crossed the river and moved to the east. As long as she remained hidden from sight, they would not find her here.

  “Leave me for a moment,” the administrator said to the soldiers. Thermiandra heard the other soldiers walk away. She looked up and saw the top of his head appear above the rock. Panic began to set in. She had come this close to eluding them… She took a deep breath and then pushed herself as deep as she could beneath the surface of the water. She grabbed onto the rocks beneath her and pulled herself deeper, away from the shore until she was fully engulfed by kelp. She looked up toward the rocks and could see the shimmering image of his entire body framed by the cloudless blue sky above – his light, not particularly muscular build, his gray beard, his sluggish, but purposefully moving, hands. He was pawing at his groin. A moment later, she saw his prick appear, followed by an unmistakable yellow stream, and she could hear the sound of water tinkling into the river.

  Thermiandra fought to hold her breath and control her disgust. Apparently the man hadn’t taken a piss in a long while, because the stream seemed never-ending. Meanwhile, her lungs were protesting, insisting that they release the air she held. To do so would compromise her position, so she continued to hold it in, fighting not to exhale. When her larynx relaxed and she involuntarily released a bit of air, she swallowed hard, fighting to keep the rest contained within herself.

  After what seemed like an eternity, the administrator pulled his pants back up and walked away. Thermiandra waited until she could no longer see him, and she finally allowed herself to exhale and rise to the surface. Panting, she gulped in a fresh breath of air, followed by a couple more, then she submerged herself once more. She was not surprised when she saw the administrator’s head reappear above the top of the rock. She sank back to the river bottom and waited. The urge to exhale was stronger now since she had not yet stopped panting before submerging again. She knew that she would not be able to remain underwater for as long as she had before. As she strained to keep her breath within her, her throat betrayed her and a few bubbles slipped from her mouth. It wasn’t a lot – certainly not more than a fish or a trapped air pocket might release.

  The administrator seemed not to notice as he turned back and walked away. Thermiandra surfaced again as quietly as she could and moved back to her position at the rock. The men were beginning to walk back to the south, in the direction of the field of battle.

  She waited there, clinging to the rocks. She was not sure how much time passed before she slowly began to climb out of the water. She was soaked and shivering from the length of time she had spent in the water. She climbed back to the top of the rock and looked for the soldiers. They were nowhere to be seen, which meant that they would probably cross the river back to the battlefield again. Cautiously, she returned to the tree where the soldier lay unmolested.

  That night, Thermiandra did not light a fire for warmth. The soldier’s fever felt as though it was going down, and the wounds looked as though they had mostly closed. This was an encouraging sign, but there was still no guarantee that he would recover. As far as she knew, his body was shutting down and he’d be dead by morning. Somehow she doubted it though. If she had read the omens correctly, this was the son of Zeus.

  Chapter 7

  The Serpent’s Kiss

  Pelephon was perplexed. Three days had passed since the bat- tle at the Granicus and the question of what had become of Heliodas continued to haunt him. He had a hard time believing that the wounded soldier had managed to crawl away from the place where he had fallen on his own; the wound he had taken had been too severe. On the other hand, who would have dragged him away? And why him? Pelephon had to admit that it was possible that the Greek soldier had managed to crawl into the river and drown, but he could imagine no reason why Heliodas would have done that rather than expire on the field of battle.

  Alexander had recovered quickly after the injury he had sustained during the battle. The blow had broken ribs, but the priests had channeled the divine magic of Ares to heal most of the real damage shortly after he sustained it. All that remained was some bruising, which the young king didn’t seem to mind. That evening as the army made camp, Alexander stood before his army shirtless, speaking of their victory over the Persians while proudly displaying the bruise. The story he told was of how the army overcame their enemies while suffering almost no losses. It was true that very few Macedonian and Greek soldiers had fallen in the battle, but there were some casualties, and they deserved to be remembered.

  Pelephon remained quiet for the next couple of days as the army marched. Like most soldiers, he had lost friends in battle before. While he had to admit that he had developed a fondnes
s for the Greek, he soon realized that his dismay was caused just as much by the body’s disappearance as it was the loss itself. Was there a chance that his friend had somehow survived?

  Night fell. Three days after the battle and Pelephon had already consumed several goblets of wine. He needed to have a conversation with Alexander, one that he wasn’t convinced he would dare have if he were entirely sober. With his fears sufficiently muted by the alcohol, he entered the king’s tent.

  “Pelephon, how are you this evening?” the blond-haired king asked as the soldier stepped inside.

  “Troubled,” Pelephon admitted.

  Alexander frowned. “Are you not pleased with our victory?”

  “I am,” Pelephon said. “However, there is some strangeness surrounding it that concerns me.”

  “The battle did not seem strange to me, and I have lived through many,” Alexander stated.

  “It is the disappearance of Heliodas that concerns me,” Pelephon stated.

  “You mean death,” Alexander corrected him.

  “No, I mean disappearance,” Pelephon reiterated. “He was cut down by a Persian before me. I fully expected that he would have died, so after the battle, when I went to bid him farewell and a quick journey to the underworld, I failed to locate his body.”

  Alexander shrugged. “Perhaps he crawled from the point where he was wounded. We have both seen this many times in the battles we have fought.”

  “I assumed that to be the case. In fact, I found a trail in the sand leading away from the site of the battle. I honestly do not know how he might have found the power to crawl away, and I suspect that he might have been dragged. By whom I have no idea, though. Something about this simply does not sit well with me.”

  Alexander nodded. “I admit that I found the story of his death unusual myself.”