Alexis of Troy (Book I)

η′ - Ochtoe

EIGHT

If you were to ask me a week ago if I had a chance to travel to ancient Greece, would I take it? I might have said, "hell yes." Who wouldn't want to see what the world was like back then? We had ideas and some evidence, but it wasn't the same thing as seeing it in person: the miraculous architecture, the culture, the simplicity in everything. Greece was the start of democracy, philosophy, and more.

Well, I wasn't in Greece. I was across the Aegean Sea in Anatolia. And it was anything but those romantic ideals instilled in my brain. So, no, I wasn't thrilled to be in the one place I'd dedicated my studies to,

Did I mention I was having the time of my life?

Paris was sprawled on the ground, still unconscious, his normally bronzed skin washed out. His curls, usually so bouncy and full, hung limp and matted against his forehead. If it weren't for the slow rise and fall of his chest, I would have believed he was dead. I was nestled into the embrace of a large tree, my hands bound behind me, my ankles cinched together tight. The ropes chafed against my skin and the cut on my thigh burned, but it wasn't as bad as the way my feet throbbed. Running with them bare and unbandaged had opened up the tender spots once more.

The androphagi were bickering over how to cook us. One was unpacking a bag of terrifying and sharp tools, no doubt to cut me and Paris into bite sized pieces. The others were going through their herbs and spices, because who else but cannibals would think to carry those around?

Altogether there were only three androphagi. In the dark, their numbers seemed greater, though each of them was built like stalky trees. They were solid, unflinching and crude. Their jokes reminded me of the supposed shop talk in my time. Crass, dirty and foul-mouthed. I was rather repulsed by the ones about how they would eat us.

Sickening jokes aside, I was left alone. For now. They didn't even bother offering me any food—not that I really expected it. Since I was going to become a meal, and all that fun stuff. I tried not to be offended, but I was so hungry I didn't care that they might only feed me to fatten me up.

By the burnt orange fire, I assessed my feet. They were caked with dirt and blood. I'd tried to twist them to see the soles, but I managed an awkward slouch. Knees bent, cheek resting on my shoulder. Peeking through the mess of blood and dirt were fresh cuts and bruises. Perfect. All that hard work and they were a ruined again. Even if I wanted to run, I doubted I'd get far on my hobbled feet. And I couldn't leave Paris.

His eyes fluttered, breath hitching. The cannibals didn't bother tying him up. Either they thought he was dead, or he wasn't a threat.

"Paris," I whispered, leaning forward. The strain on my shoulders increased. "Paris, wake up."

I was rewarded with relief as Paris' eyes inched open. Then he screwed them shut again, his face contorting in a silent groan.

"It is decided," the first cannibal declared, "we eat the boy first and save the girl."

"We'll have a chance to play with her, too," the second cannibal declared. He was shorter than the other two, with horrible pockmarks that made his skin look like mouldy cheese.

"Like hell you are," I mumbled, my stomach twisting in a knot.

Sure, right now they were getting drunk, laughing and having a good time. That wasn't going to last forever. The androphagi were hungry and men after all. They were going to want to eat. Gag. I had to get us out of there before things went south.

The bark was rough against my back, and though it might take a while, if I rubbed my wrists against it long enough, it might wear the rope down to threads. I shifted so I could move them, eyeing the cannibals carefully. They were focused on their plans for me and not paying any attention to what I was doing.