Page 49 of Beyond the Storm
“I shall hit him next,” the biggest of the group said before grabbing the bloodied stone from the other boy’s hand. “Let us see how quickly he heals after I bash in his skull.”
“P-please.” I raised a hand, squinting against the blinding sunlight that seeped through the space between their heads. The flood of light caused all of their faces to become shadowed. Dark. A sea of faceless boys.
“Hear how he begs,” another said with a laugh. He kicked me. “Pathetic.”
“If he is so strong, why does he sit in the dirt?”
“Fight!” Another boy hit me.
“Look here.” The biggest boy shoved me farther down, pressing my face into the dirt with one beefy hand while the other landed on my back. “These marks on his shoulders. Two of them, like lashings from a whip.”
I had noticed the marks before but didn’t understand where I’d received them.
I was kicked again. Punched in the back of the head. Soon, all of them joined in, some hitting me with rocks while others used their fists. I curled into a ball and let my mind take me elsewhere—somewhere far from that place.
“Enough!” a deeper voice boomed. “Go wash in the stream and prepare for evening meal.”
The boys tossed aside their rocks and obeyed the order from our trainer. Some kicked dirt at me before leaving. The cuts and scrapes marking my body started to heal, as did the red welts on my skin.
Another shadow loomed over me. “Stand.”
I peered up at Melas. His black hair fell to his ears, and a deep scar cut across his left cheek. Another marked his forehead and disappeared into his hairline. His muscled body had seen many battles in his thirty-three years. I pushed to my feet and lowered my gaze.
“Eyes up, boy.”
I obeyed.
Melas glared down at me, yet something in his brown eyes seemed almost soft. “I have seen you train, Kallias. You are far more skilled than all of those youths but allow them to beat you.”
“The pain passes.” In fact, I rarely felt much at all. Sometimes I wondered if I had no soul. Surely, someone who possessed one wouldn’t feel so empty.
“Your mother claims you have the blood of the gods in your veins.” Melas stepped closer. He grabbed me by the chin and forced my head to the side as he examined the places the boys had hit me with rocks. “I see blood but no injury. Perhaps she is right.” He released me. “You resemble your father.”
“You knew him, sir?”
“Aye.” Melas jerked his head for me to follow. I did. We walked from the training arena toward the stream. “He wasn’t from our lands. Many of us were angered when she chose him as her lover. Even more so when we learned you grew in her womb.”
How appropriate for me to have caused so much anger even before my birth. My existence only brought conflict.
“However.” Melas stopped and turned to me. “Your father proved himself. He fought beside us in battle. He wiped out our enemies without breaking a sweat.”
“He did?” I asked, feeling… something in my chest. A glimmer of emotion.
Melas nodded and continued walking. “Much like you, his injuries from battle faded before my very eyes. We held a feast to celebrate our victory once returning home, and many of those who opposed his union with your mother gave their blessing instead. Five days later, he was killed.”
“The coward my mother spoke of.”
Another nod. “Whether you possess the blood of the gods matters very little. You are a Spartan.” His brown eyes shifted to me. “For this reason, you must never allow a man to best you in a fight. Never surrender. Show them your strength. Only then will they accept you as one of them.”
I pondered his words for the remainder of the evening. The boys paid me no attention during the meal, and when we slept on our makeshift mats that night, the distance between us felt like miles. That was when I realized Melas was wrong.
They would never accept me as one of them.
Before the sun set the following day, my life changed once again.
I was by the stream washing from a long day of training, when I heard what sounded like a large bird. I glanced up and nearly fell backward as a man glided toward the grass. A man with white wings. He landed in front of me, saying nothing at first. The strands of his white hair ruffled as a wind blew through the valley. His eyes were a pale blue, like a clear sky in winter.
“Are you a messenger of the gods?” I asked.
