The Last Prophetess

Part 4

My memories fade away as I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. It is strange how well I remember events in my dreams from over ten years ago, when we were just on the brink of this wretched war.

Years of fighting the Greeks is what ensued Paris's grave mistake. For Helen's old husband, King Menelaus of Sparta, realized his wife was gone and joined with the Greeks to wage war on poor Troy. I am still locked up in this room, since the day I threatened Helen, and visited only occasionally. I wonder why my father tries to treat madness by causing more madness.

Many prophecies have come and gone, not that anybody heeds them. There is always someone who recounts my ravings to my family and brings me news of the war, but I have never seen them. I can only hear their voice outside the door.

Jolted out of my thoughts, I recognize the sound of feet echoing on the stairs leading up to my prison. The heavy bars on the door are lifted off, crashing to the floor. I rise in anticipation, eager to see beyond the bronze and wooden perimeter.

The doors swing open to reveal my father standing on the threshold. I stare in shock, because I don't expect to see him so soon after our last meeting. His eyes are filled with light, almost as crazy as mine, but he doesn't seem crazy. He seems happy, joyful even. Hope begins to swell through me, lifting me from an ocean of misery, but I quickly tamp it down: it is something I can no longer afford.

"They're gone!" My father barrels into the room and grasps my shoulders. "They're gone! Vanished!" I am speechless up until the point the King starts spinning me around the room. "Alright!" I finally say. "Sit down and tell me what happened." King Priam grins and announces, "The Greeks have left! They have deserted their camp and gone home, the cowards!"

I shoot up off my bed as if I was electrocuted. Impossible, I immediately reason. And yet...it's the very thing I have so ardently wished for. But I must see for myself.

I notice that the soldiers on guard have stepped closer so that they are completely inside the room. Smiling innocently, I walk over to the basin of water behind them, pretending to get a drink. At the last second I dash past the heavy doors and slam them in the soldiers' faces.

I struggle to place the bars over the door; I can only manage one, but it should keep them in there for some time. Escape energizes me and I place my palm over the solid wood my prisoners are trying to knock down. I am ready to leave this place behind. My bare feet hit the first cool step on the sprawling staircase and I know I am free. I race down the steps and out into the blessed sunshine.