Cry of Cassandra

2 | Cassandra

When I woke, Helenus was gone.  It was Hector all over again.

I bit my lip hard until I drew blood so that I wouldn't cry.  Crying was always frowned upon in our family; any emotions were.  We were supposed to be above it all.  Mother always said that you could feel whatever you pleased, as long as it remained hidden.  Emotions were to be left to the plebeians and slaves.

My eyes were red and throbbed since I had cried myself to sleep last night.  Helenus had left a few minutes after he had confessed that he would be training for three years.  I had stayed in my room and refused to come down to eat dinner, saddened that my twin had left and angered that he had only told me now.

I didn't want to see my family now, especially my parents.  It was because of them that I had only been told last night. Most of my siblings would either mock, tease, or be pragmatic if I acted differently, even if I had been abandoned by my other half.

No, not abandoned, I thought.  He would be back.  I could only hope that we would not change too much in the interim.  I loved how we could communicate with one another with a single look, how we had our own language.

I looked around my room, taking in the golden blush the dawn light bathed the room in.  The silken navy blue curtains fluttered in a gentle breeze as birds chirped in greeting to one another.  I eyed my paintings in various states of progress, before my eyes flitted to my bookshelf, then my writing desk.

I didn't even want to look at my scrolls, writing or art for once.  They would only remind me of Helenus and how we would read together, or how I would paint him, or how he would practice his fighting as I quietly wrote.  

I decided it would be best if I breakfasted on my own, so I wouldn't say anything to my parents I would later regret.  Sighing, I made my way to my closet, looking for something old to wear.  I decided on a woolen peplos of a plain dove grey (one of my maid's old ones,) a slate grey cloak (which I had traded a slave for,) and my soft leather boots, since I would be going to eat by the river Scamander.

Braiding my long red hair back into a long fishtail braid, I covered it with the plainest woolen head scarf I could find.

Even so, it was an extravagant piece, if slightly faded: a rich black wool embroidered in intricate detail with silver leaves and grey vines, with a riot of bright scarlet and pale lemon orchids randomly blooming over the piece.  I hadn't been able to trade anyone for one, since slaves and servants rarely used any.  Sighing, I dressed quickly.  

I went down to the kitchen and grabbed some red and green grapes, black and green olives, freshly brewed beer, a couple of loaves of warm rye bread, feta cheese and a handful of dried fruit for my breakfast.  I placed all of the food carefully into a woven wicker basket and covered them with a plain white wool cloth to keep them cool and free of insects and animals.  

While I hated the sour and bitter taste of beer, it was one of the few safe drinks we had, other than wine.  Mother always forced me to drink my wine watered down, resulting in a worse flavor than the beer.  Thank goodness I wasn't forced to water my beer down.

Maybe one day water would be safe to drink.  I'm sure whatever society was able to reap the benefits from that innovation would treasure it.

I slowly made my way out of the oppressively hot kitchens as I continued to muse over what the society of the future would be able to accomplish once we learned to treasure the small differences between us.  As I stealthily passed the great hall, someone grasped my arm gently.

"Oh," I cried, turning so sharply that I almost fell over in my haste.

I stared up at my eldest brother, Hector, wide-eyed.   Hector, who I was trying to sneak past in order to have a picnic by the river.  I looked down at his hand, and he immediately released me.  I crossed my arms, waiting patiently.

"Where are you going, little one," he rumbled.  Why did he have to be so massive that it was intimidating?  Every time I looked him in the eyes, his face seemed so far away.

"Out to have a picnic.  I won't go to far - just by the river Scamandar," I begged, wide-eyed, lower lip quivering slightly.

He looked at me for a long moment, searchingly. Suddenly, he surprised me and grinned.  "Fine."

"Please, I'll be back in time for...did you say fine," I asked disbelievingly, as a hopeful smile cautiously made its way across my face.  

He simply nodded and grunted, sending me his signature tiny, lop-sided smile.  "Just take this for protection, sister," he said as he handed me a small, ornate dagger.

Instinctively, I leaped up and hugged him tightly, standing on my tip-toes to better reach him, as I took his favorite dagger from him with care.  It was an iron dagger, carved from a meteorite that had fallen to the earth the night of his birth.  The handle was intricately carved copper, etched with scenes from mythology.  There was an ruby the size of a chicken egg imbedded in the hilt.

"Thank you," I whispered, touched.  I gave him another tight hug for good measure.

Smiling slightly, he gave a single nod and went back into the great hall.  Hector was never much of a talker, always preferring action over words.  What few words he chose to speak were carefully thought out and often layered with meaning.

Ever since he had returned home from training at the temple of Ares, he had been even less talkative.  He was the exact opposite of another of my brothers, Paris.  Then again, Paris didn't have to think about how he acted or what he said: he wasn't even the third in line to the throne after Hector.

I tucked the ornate knife into the basket along with the food and proceeded with a lighter heart to the river, pebbles crunching underfoot, as I finally reached the banks of the river Scamander.

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