One Last Time - Apollo and Anastasia

One Last Hug

Never in my life did I feel more scared. My first duel with a soldier from the royals had ended badly. Of course, I had gotten better, stronger, and quicker since then. But it was nothing compared to the fear of being welcomed to fight in a war.

"So if Paris, the son of the Trojan king, hadn't kidnapped Helen, you wouldn't be recruiting soldiers?" my mother muttered. "Why must Aphrodite make such wishes?"

"Don't blame the goddess, woman," the council's leader spoke loudly. I stood up, stretching my knife, but my mother stopped me in my tracks.

"Stop, Anastasia. Very well, Nacrus." I felt as if someone had stabbed me in the back. "She's trained long enough to leave for war."

My mother always made these calls. I had no say in the matter. I was already blessed to have the allowance to be a warrior; I couldn't argue further. I wished I could. I had always wanted to go to war, to prove myself legendary like the demigods, such as Hercules, but there weren't many women warriors. We would be the heroes who sailed across the Aegean Sea to take revenge for a grave insult.

"When shall we leave? What must I take?" I asked.

"Tonight at 10 o'clock. You will move with 500 other men to Troy on the western coast of Anatolia. Carry your weapons: spear, sheath, armor, sword, and a spoil for war, in case you sacrifice your life on the battlefield. You mustn't inform your farewell to any other family, as the news will spread about you being wed to someone in Pylos."

"I do not allow such news," my mother spoke. "She must, and will, be known as a warrior. Let everyone know she has left for a faraway war."

"Acacia—" Nacrus stopped. "Very well."

"Do you mean that none of the Athenians know about the upcoming war?!" I shouted. "You might as well threaten our existence in the near future!"

"Quiet, kid," Nacrus spoke sternly. "Be prepared. Go have rest; take your last hugs from your loved ones. I'll inform you who else shall join the war. We shall fight for the Greeks, as we are led by Agamemnon, King of Mycenae. We shall fight against the Trojans, led by King Priam. The king of Ithaca, Odysseus, shall lead an army of 600 men. We might meet them at cross-routes in the sea."

"All respect, Nacrus," I bowed to him as a warrior. "You may and must leave at once."

He scoffed and dragged his toga across the floor as he walked out the gates. I stared at the papyrus, holding my invitation to my own death. I looked up at my knife. Its blade was bronze, sharp, polished, and glowing. But the leather hilt was stained with the blood of many enemies of mine. I glanced over at my shield resting on the dresser. It was adorned with olive leaves, had a strong leather grip, and had been smoldered for a dozen moments to achieve its shine. Neither had ever seen war.

"Leave and rest now," my mother ordered. She walked away, calling for Alexandra. "Alexandra! Pack two bags of barley, bread, wine, and water for my daughter. Embroider her name on each and send it off to the ship that awaits at the port of Athens. Clean her war spoils, clothes, and pack it all up in a bag to send along. I must leave for Ithaca at once, for I'll meet the queen, Penelope, who just gave birth to the successor of Ithaca, Telemachus. Her husband leaves for war, and so must my daughter. We shall pray to our goddess Athena for her blessing upon Anastasia."

I walked up the stairs to my room. 

As I lay on the edge of my bed, exhaustion weighed heavily on my limbs, but sleep eluded me. My mind churned with thoughts of the upcoming battle. Despite my training and the countless duels I had fought, an icy grip of fear tightened around my heart. This wasn't just a practice fight; this was war.

I sat up, glancing at my knife and shield, their polished surfaces gleaming in the dim light. I could recall every lesson, every sparring match—the thrill of victory, the sting of defeat. Yet, none of those experiences could prepare me for the chaos of a battlefield. The thought of facing real enemies, of blood and death, sent shivers down my spine.