Alexis of Troy (Book I)

ιε′ - Dekapente

Fifteen

The further we walked from the farm, the lighter Paris' mood grew. It was as if a veil had been lifted and he saw the world in a new, exciting light. To him, there were endless possibilities now that he was free. He all but skipped as we made our way towards Troy. It was endearing, really, but the truth of his fate tugged annoyingly at the fringes of my mind. His upbeat attitude clouded the uncertainty of what we were walking into. He was royalty. His parents had wanted him dead because of a prophecy, so what kind of reception would he receive when he returned, alive and well? I doubted it'd be particularly warm.

Chiron and Melanippe were waiting for us off the main road. Chiron explained he would accompany us to Troy, but must return home after. The thought of parting with the centaur and his daughter weighed heavily on me.

"How will I make it without you?" I asked.

Paris had ridden ahead with Melanippe to scout out the path, and I walked next to Chiron.

"Don't underestimate your strength," the centaur said. "Apollo would not have sent me to you if there was not something worth shaping. And I cannot mentor you forever. The time is coming where you must take all I have told you and survive."

"If I make it to Greece, do you think I could come for a visit?"

I had no idea where Chiron's home was in relation to Sparta or Mount Olympus, but one could hope, right?

The centaur's smile was soft, placating. "I do not know if our paths will cross after this."

With the sun beaming pleasantly down on us the landscape wasn't nearly as terrifying as it had been my first night here. There were no looming, dark shadows that hid insidious lurkers. Even the trees looked harmless, as opposed to the gnarled ghastly things I'd imagined. It wasn't so bad here, I supposed. It was pretty. The air was humid but clean. There was no one around as from my group. There were worse places I could have been plopped into, let's be honest. There were better places too, but let's not dwell too much on the what ifs.

When Paris rode back, I climbed back onto the divine horse and we picked up our pace. As we rode, the prince prodded me with questions about my life and my home which I tried to answer, while being as vague as possible.

But it wasn't just because I didn't want to give away my truth. The more Paris asked about my family, the less I seemed to remember. I was pretty sure that my mom was an architect, but it was muddied. My dad was a scholar... though in what field?

My siblings? One had kids, right? That would be my brother... I think.

While Paris marvelled at my apparently outlandish family, each question tightened around my chest like a steely wire. Why couldn't I remember them? They were there, I could picture my parents in my mind... could I? No. Their faces were blurred. My siblings, even more faded. I couldn't even tell you what day it was... perhaps Sunday? Did that mean my parents were preparing brunch for the family? Did we still have brunch?

The mystifying questions plagued my mind as Paris rattled on about one day having such an illustrious family.

There was one thing I did know, however. I was forgetting my family.

Something bumped my elbow. Paris was staring at me with his round, chocolatey eyes, and it took me a moment to realize he had been speaking to me. The embarrassing heat crept up my neck to my cheeks.

"Sorry... what?"

"I asked what you were thinking about?"

"Oh..." I trailed off, my eyes tracing the picturesque scenery around me. "Just thinking about home, mostly. I kind of miss them."