Dark of the Moon

chapter 9

WELL, DARLING," my mother says, anxious, as always, to avoid discord. "Well, they're very nice sandals."

I hold one up by its strap. This is a mistake, as the strip of leather has rotted through and the sandal falls to the ground. I pick up the other by its sole and inspect it. Perhaps at one time they were nice, but that time is long past, and lying squashed under a boulder hasn't helped them stay at their best. Still, the buckles are large and solid, and the leather was once thick and must have been stout. Not inexpensive, certainly, but not what I've been hoping for.

"Why would he leave me sandals? He must have known that they wouldn't last until I was grown. And how did he know they would even fit me?" I realize I'm whining.

"Open the other one," Konnidas urges. "Maybe there's something more practical in it."

I'm not hoping for something practical. I'm hoping for something valuable—gold or jewels or at least a silver ingot. What I find in the other packet, though, is a long dagger or a short sword, and whatever it's made of has corroded until it's covered with greenish crust. I'm not familiar with metals (anything that rare and expensive seldom comes as far as Troizena), but this must be bronze. I feel a little glimmer of hope. If it is bronze, then it's certainly worth something.

Konnidas reaches for it. "May I?" I nod and pass it to him. He holds the hilt in one hand and rests the blade in the other. "A good weight." I'm surprised; I didn't know my stepfather had knowledge of metalwork. With a thumbnail, he scrapes at the crust on the blade, and as it flakes away, a dull yellow gleam leaps out. Konnidas raises his brows and places the sword back on the oiled cloth. "Be worth cleaning." He picks up his spade again and returns to his vines.

I spend the rest of the day rubbing the blade. Konnidas leaves me to it, even though I could be useful in the garden, and I'm grateful to him.

By the time my stepfather heads into the house to prepare our meal, I'm ready to show him and my mother what I've uncovered. I sit at a stool, the sword on my lap. My mother sets a bowl at each place. The fish stew that my stepfather ladles into them smells savory. My hard work with the boulder has made me hungry, and Konnidas, too, seems to have a good appetite. We eat without speaking, occasionally pulling a fish bone off our tongues and balancing it on the edge of the bowl. My mother merely picks at hers and lets the dog lick the broth off her fingers. Both seem to be avoiding my eye.

When I have sopped up the last of my soup with a crust of bread, I clear my throat and put the sword on the table. It looks out of place among the wooden bowls with fish bones perched on their rims.

Konnidas is the first to speak. "A fine blade." I'm still surprised that he knows about metal, and now it appears that he's familiar with weapons as well. I realize with a little jolt that I don't know much about him.

My mother runs a tentative fingertip along the bright figures inlaid in the blade. They appear to be of gold: an owl, with two sparkling dark red gems representing its eyes; a coiling snake whose scales have been picked out minutely by an engraver; and a shape that I don't recognize, a rectangle with one corner cut out of it.

"What does it mean?" I ask. Maybe Konnidas's knowledge will extend this far.

"It means," he says as he picks up the sword and examines its hilt, which I have yet to clean, "it means that our boy here is not only the grandson of a king. He is also the son of a king. The man who left this sword under the stone is—or was—the king of Athens. See, here is the snake. It represents Erechtheus, the first king of the Athenians, and their god. The owl stands for Athena, their patron goddess. This other mark"—his long index finger brushes against the strange shape—"stands for the throne. It means the man who owned this was the king. Those sandals..." He pauses.

"Well?" I try not to sound impatient.

"Well, obviously, he means that you are to go on a journey."

"What kind of journey?"

Konnidas looks at my mother, who suddenly becomes interested in feeding her pet. "A journey to find him," he says.

"Is this true?" I turn to my mother. She shrugs and offers a bit of cheese to the dog, who takes it delicately in her white teeth. "Mother! My father wants me to come to him and you never told me so? I could have found some way to move that rock long ago." I stand and pick up the bowls from the table. "I could have been out of here, out of this hole of a town, with a father who could teach me how to be a man..." I let my voice trail off when I see the hurt on Konnidas's gentle face. I long to tell him that wanting to know my real father doesn't mean that I esteem him less. I don't know how to say this, so I turn and put the bowls into the washbasin. I start to go fetch water when something Konnidas said makes me turn back.

"Erechtheus," I say, remembering tong-ago talk about Athens in the temple. "Isn't he also called Erechtheus Poseidon?" I look over at my mother, who drops her hands and her gaze to her lap. "Mother, did the man—did my father really say he was Poseidon? Or did he merely say something about Erechtheus Poseidon?"

"It's so long ago." I detect a tremble in her voice. "I don't remember what he—I don't remember exactly what he said."

"Oh, Mother." A red rage swells in my chest and blocks off my speech. I stalk out and stand in the yard, fuming.

I hear footsteps, but I don't turn around. It can't be my mother; she will take offense at my storming out and refuse to speak to me until I have apologized. When Konnidas clasps my shoulder, I close my eyes and feel my muscles unclench. Until then, I had not known that I had tightened them. He hands me a cloth that he has soaked in spring water, and I lay it against my face, which is hot and swollen.

"Don't be angry." His voice is mild, as always. "She's worried, and that makes her unreasonable." I snort. She has never not been unreasonable. Konnidas's next words startle me. "It's time for you to leave, anyway. This place is too small for you."

"What do you mean, too small for me?" I rub my arms against a sudden chill.

My stepfather turns me around and looks into my eyes with his gray ones. I realize that I am almost as tall as he. Konnidas doesn't smile often, but he usually wears a pleasant expression. Now his solemn face strikes dread in my heart.

"What do you mean?" I repeat, and my tight throat makes the last word squeak.

He asks me a question himself. "Why do you think they hate you?"

I don't ask who. It seems that everybody in the village hates me. "Because of what she says," I answer. "Because she insists that my father is Poseidon. They think that I think I'm better than they are."

"Do you?"

"No!"

"Have you ever said that you were?"

"No, of course not." I'm indignant.

"Then why would they hate you for it?"

That brings me up short. I look at my stepfather in silence, confused.

"That's not why they hate you," he says. "They wouldn't hold you responsible for something she says. They know her—at least, their parents know her. She's never been—she's always been different."

"Then, what is it? If it's not what she says that makes them angry at me, what?"

It's you.

"And this is better—that they hate me for myself and not for my parentage?"

"Not better. They see something in you that frightens them."

"What do they see?"

"You're too—too big, too strong, for this place. Not"—he raises a hand as he sees me about to speak—"not your body, although that's bigger and stronger than I think you know. No, it's you, it's Theseus. Without knowing it, they see that you're greater than any of them, and they're frightened and jealous. So they attack you. It's like wolves—you've seen how the leader has to continually fight to maintain his position?" I nod. "It's the same thing."

This is perhaps the longest speech I have ever heard my stepfather make, and I have no idea how to respond. The silence stretches between us. I hear a pat-pat-pat, and the dog comes trotting out of the house. She sits and looks up at me. I look down at her, then across at my stepfather. Both stare back at me.

"All right," I say. "I'll go."