The House of Atreus | ONC 2023 Shortlist

XV

I stumble behind Mother as she pulls at my arm. My long skirts twist and tangle around my legs, tiny stones wedge between my toes as my feet kick up sand and dust. The shouts behind us grow more distant with every step we take away from the horrible scene. My heartbeat pounds in my ears like a drum. I flinch, remembering the sound of rocks colliding with Achilles' skull. I want to look back, see if he's alright, if he's still standing, but I barely have time to suck air into my lungs as I run and struggle not to fall into the dirt beneath me.

We slow down and duck beneath a low-hanging tent flap that's in our way. When we emerge on the other side, I sense something behind us. The sound of rapid footfalls coming nearer, and voices growing louder again. I whip my head around and see a handful of men rounding a corner near a little fur-covered tent that we passed just moments before. They stop when they see us and one of them locks eyes with me. My breath hitches and my feet suddenly seem to forget how to work. Mother's tug on my wrist becomes painful as she tries to haul me forward.

She turns and looks past me, spotting the soldiers who seem a little stumped to see two women, alone and without an escort running around a war camp. Even from a distance, I can see the frantic glitter in their gazes. Their chests are rising rapidly, their nostrils flaring. There's dirt and splatters of blood on their chitons, hands, and faces.

"Hold up, is this the little sacrifice?" says the one who caught my gaze mere moments before.

Instinctively I stumble backwards as they start towards us and collide with my mother. Her hands are on my shoulders and she shoves me behind her, shielding me from the men with her own body. Her hand finds mine and I feel the cold bite of metal against my palm.

"Take it." She slips me a fibula from her dress. My fingers close around its sharp edges, the spiky tip at its end as I clutch it against my chest. A warm breeze touches my shoulder and I notice faintly my skin is bare, the sleeve of my peplos has slid down, its top unfastened now. Mother must've taken the pin out when she pushed me away just now.

I don't have time to marvel at the deftness of her hands and her quick thinking. I squeal as one man leaps forward, advancing toward us. The others are right on his heels. My shoulders jerk upwards and I pinch my eyelids closed, waiting for the impact. For hands to grab at me, to pull at my arms, my hair. To drag me away to kill me already.

But none of that happens.

I feel Mother's body bumping against mine as she stumbles backwards. The sounds of struggle penetrate my ears. Huffing and heaving and then the dull thump of a body hitting the ground. I open my eyes and Achilles is coming up behind the men.

He steps over the soldier he has dropped and jumps at the next one, hooking his arm around the man's neck from behind. The other man groans, pained and surprised at the same time and his hands fly up to grab Achilles' forearm. But he just pushes it harder against the other one's throat. I catch a glance at his face over the opponent's shoulder. It's set in grim lines, contorted in rage and concentration. The corners of his mouth twitch when he lets go of the limb body in his arms and stalks forward again.

The remaining men have turned around now, alarmed by the gasps of their comrades. They don't hesitate. All three of them attack Achilles at once. He ducks under the first one's arm, a golden blur in the midst of them. Achilles shoves the second man that tries to grab him and sends him slamming into the third one. They tumble to the ground but when he turns around, his first opponent has found his footing again. He swings his fist with a battle cry and it crashes into Achilles' face.

I wince when he groans and stumbles, but he manages to stay on his feet. He coughs and spits out a mouthful of blood. There's barely a moment to breathe though when the other two men charge at him once more. Achilles takes a hit to the stomach and doubles over with a painful cry. The third man grabs his golden curls and forces him upright again, jerking his head around.

"Is that all you've got, golden boy?"

Mother takes hold of my arm and tries to drag me away from the scene but I'm rooted to the spot, unable to tear my eyes away from the violence unfolding in front of me. She shoves me back until my other arm brushes against the cloth of a nearby tent. We huddle in the shadows, watching the men round in on Achilles.

He snarls and suddenly lurches forward, slamming his forehead into the opponent's face. There's a sickening crunch and blood sprays onto the ground, staining the dirt crimson. The man goes down with a tortured scream, clutching at his nose. But Achilles is already moving, ducking and turning on his axis. With ferocious efficiency, he kicks the other man's kneecap and I hear another nauseating sound accompanied by a yell as the soldier's legs give in.

The last man tries to grab his neck from behind, to pay him back for knocking out his other two comrades that are still unconscious on the ground further behind. But Achilles seems to sense him coming and whips around. His fist collides with the opponent's face but a single strike is not enough. Achilles deals out two more punches into the man's abdomen in quick succession, darting left and right to evade the counterattacks. He moves with an easy air now, almost as if the other man is too slow for him.

His opponent falls to his knees and huffs heavily. He sways and struggles to get up again but Achilles is merciless, he hits him one last time, so violently I can hear his knuckles cracking, knocking the man backwards.

"Stay down," Achilles growls, pushing his foot into the soldier's chest. He looks down at him, his chest heaving as he takes a few laborious breaths. He hangs his head, letting out a defeated sigh but then he turns and his gaze darts quickly between the shadows before he spots me and my mother.

His expression is murderous as he comes towards us. Gone is the beautiful golden boy. There's blood all over his face, running down his temple and chin. His chiton is speckled red and dirty brown. I wonder how he's still able to stand after all the blows he took, both from fists and stones thrown at him. He looks feral, frightening, yet when he speaks, his voice is soft.

"Come on," he says when he reaches me, "this way." His hand is warm and slippery on my bare arm and he guides me right into the tent, Mother right beside us. He's so close now that I can smell the metallic tang of blood on him. His breath comes in shallow gulps and feathers across the side of my neck.

I pay no attention to the interior of the tent as Achilles hurries us forward, throwing the furs and cloths to the side and stepping outside again. His head jerks in both directions as he surveys the area. We quickly walk along a few more dusty footpaths, ducking and turning every few feet until Achilles finally leads us into another tent and with deft movements, pulls the flaps closed behind us. 

Notes:

Fibula: A brooch or pin for fastening garments, typically at the right shoulder.