Page 73 of Beyond the Storm
“They will be preparing for the diamastigosis soon,” Nikandros said, watching the boys run farther away. They reached the tree line and disappeared into the branches and shrubs. “I remember when we participated. I nearly pissed myself.”
The diamastigosis was an annual ritual designed to test our bravery, stealth, and pain resistance. Taking place at the altar of Artemis Orthia, the contest was brutal and bloody as younger boys attempted to steal cheese off the altar while older boys whipped and flogged them. Spectators often traveled from great distances to see this contest of endurance.
“Youdidpiss yourself,” I reminded him.
He snorted. “You forget nothing, do you?”
“Forgetting would be a blessing sometimes,” I responded, my voice barely above a whisper.
My companion’s expression turned sympathetic. “You are thinking of your raven-haired beauty?”
As if on impulse, my hand lifted to my neck. Kallias’ mark warmed beneath my touch, and my insides knotted together. “Let us wash from travel. Evening meal will be soon.”
No more was said on the matter.
Yet, as the hours passed, my mind refused to leave Kallias. Had he and his brothers arrived at their next destination yet? Were they fighting more… what had he called them, demons?
Was he thinking of me too?
I reclined on my mat later that night, tired but unable to sleep. When I closed my eyes, I saw him with that sad smile. Kallias was soft-spoken, and sometimes his voice reflected the same melancholy that lived behind his dark eyes. Most of all, I recalled how perfectly Kallias had fit against me as we’d lain beneath the tree.
The pain was excruciating. I had endured many injuries in my life, but the ache in my chest—in my soul—was so much greater than all of them combined. How was it possible to miss someone I had only known for a single day?
“We’re bound by fate, Elasus. You are the missing half of my soul.”
Maybe that explained why being apart from him felt like I’d left a piece of myself behind.
“Nikandros?” I whispered, turning my head to where he lay beside me. “Are you asleep?”
He cracked open his eyelids. “Not anymore.”
“Apologies. I will leave you to your rest.”
He kicked his leg forward and struck me in the shin. “You have already woken me. Speak now, or I may just have to smother you with my bare hands.”
I smiled despite the pain in my heart. “Do you ever imagine leaving?”
“Leaving?” Nikandros became more alert. “As in, leaving Sparta?” I nodded. He was quiet for several moments as he thought. “You are the only one I would ever admit this to… but yes. I do. Sometimes.”
“I never have before,” I confessed. “I have lived and breathed this life, not allowing myself to crave anything more. Until now.”
“Because of him?”
I couldn’t respond.
“Do you wish to know my thoughts?” he asked. Again, I nodded. “Fighting for our home. Fighting for each other. That is what keeps me here—you and my other brothers.”
Shame filled me. But before I could form a response, he kicked me again, this time lighter.
“Do not make that face, Elasus. I am not finished speaking.” Nikandros shifted closer, and his voice dipped in volume. “I said that to say this… we’ve fought in many battles together. Within that time, warriors have boasted about Spartan pride and said we must lay down our lives for our home. Yet, those same warriors fall in battle and are forgotten. Some become part of the battlefield they fall upon, and others are brought back to Sparta, given nothing but a barely marked gravestone, a few words of gratitude, and then the earth swallows up those graves like their honor swallowed their lives.”
The lump wedged in my throat caused my words to come out raspier than intended. “What are you saying, Nikandros?”
“I’m saying…” Another kick. “Dying for our home is honorable, yes, but what about living? How many Spartans do you know who live to be old and gray? We die young, some of us before we’ve even had the chance to truly live. Is dying all that Sparta asks of us? Live so that we may die beneath a scorching sun somewhere far from home with nothing more than a grave marker to remember us by? I gladly fight for our home, but I’m not naïve enough to believe my life matters. If I died tomorrow, another warrior would take my place, and life would go on.”
“You have given this much thought.”
Nikandros stared at the ceiling of the barracks. “We are taught solidarity. We are one force meant to crush our enemies, sacrificing as many as it takes. I have long since accepted my fate.” He glanced back at me. “But you have always been different, Elasus. You question the world and our place in it. You’ve never spoken it aloud, and perhaps you’ve never realized it yourself, yet I sometimes see that wistfulness on your face when you stare at Mount Taygetus.”
