I frowned at his words. By his eyes, everyone knew Acheron was the son of some god. But to my knowledge no demigod had ever heard voices of the other gods. At least not like this.
"Mother says that you must be a son of Zeus," I told him. "She says that he must have visited her one night, disguised as Father, and that she didn't know he'd been in her bed until you were born. So why would you hear the voices of the Atlantean gods when we're Greek and your father is either Zeus or a Greek king?"
"I don't know. Idikos drugs me whenever I hear them until I'm too dizzy and numb to notice anymore. He says it's a figment of my mind. He says . . ." His face stricken, he looked away.
"He says what?"
"That the gods have all cursed me. It's their will that I serve as I do. It's why I was born so unnaturally and why everyone wants to sleep with me. The gods all hate me and they want to punish me for my birth."
"The gods don't hate you, Acheron. How could they?"
He wrenched his arm from my grasp and gave me a look so insolent that I was shocked by it. Never had he shown this much spirit. "If they don't hate me, then why am I like this? Why has my father denied me? Why would my mother never even look at me? Why have I been kept as an animal whose only role in life is to serve as my master bids me? Why can't people look at me without attacking me?"
I cupped his face in my hands, grateful that he no longer tensed when I touched him. "That has nothing to do with the gods. Only other people's stupidity. Has it never occurred to you that the gods sent me to free you because they didn't want to see you suffer anymore?"
His gaze fell. "I can't hope for that, Ryssa."
"Why not?"
"Because hope scares me. What if this is all I am? A whore to be bartered and sold. The gods make kings and they make whores. It's obvious which role they chose for me."
I winced at his words. Honestly, I preferred the weeks when he refused to mention being a whore. I hated the reminders of what had been done to him against his will, especially those wretched balls in his tongue that flashed every time he spoke.
"You are not cursed!"
"Then why when I tried to gouge out my eyes would they not stay out?"
Paralyzed by those words, I couldn't breathe for several seconds. "What?"
"I've tried three times to gouge out my eyes so that they couldn't offend others, and each time they returned to my skull by themselves. If I'm not cursed, why would they do that?" He lifted his hand to show me that cut that had already started to mend. "Injuries that take weeks for others to heal, heal in days if not hours on me."
Tears stung my eyes at the pain in his deep voice. I didn't know what to say to that. "You get sick. I've seen it."
"Not for long. Not like a normal person and I can go three weeks without a single morsel of food or drop of water and not die." The fact that he knew how long he could go without nourishment told me it'd been done to him. But even though he could go that long and not die, he starved just like the rest of us. I knew that too from being with him.
I closed my hand around his. "I don't know the will of the gods, Acheron, no one does. But I refuse to believe that it's their will to hurt you so. You were a precious gift that was scorned by the very ones who should have cherished you. That is a human tragedy that shouldn't be laid at the feet of divinity. The priests often say that the gifts of the gods are sometimes hard to accept or identify, but I know in my heart that you are special. That you are a gift to humanity. Never doubt that you were placed here with some higher purpose and that purpose was not with malice or to be abused."
I swallowed before I kissed his injured hand. "I love you, little brother. And I see in you nothing but goodness, intelligence, compassion and warmth. One day I hope you'll see it too."
He placed his other hand on mine. "I wish I could, Ryssa. But all I see is a whore who's tired of being used."
February 15, 9531 BC
Time has flown by as I've watched Acheron grow from a timid, frightened boy into a man who is more confident to voice his own opinions. He no longer cringes or holds his head down. When I speak to him, he now meets my gaze levelly. Truly his transformation has been the most beautiful thing I've ever witnessed.
I'm not sure if I've had the most impact on that, or if it was Maia who finally reached him and brought out this new side. The two of them are inseparable.
Today they were in the kitchen while Petra was cooking. I stood in the doorway watching them closely.
"You have to pound the bread like this." Maia chopped at it with her tiny hands as she knelt on a tall stool so that she could reach the table. "Pretend it's somebody you don't like," she whispered loudly as if imparting a great secret to him.
Acheron's expression glowed with warmth. "I didn't think there was anyone you didn't like."
"Well, I don't, but there's probably someone you don't like."
I didn't miss the torment in his eyes as he averted his gaze. I wondered who topped his list. Our father or our uncle?
"We need more milk."