Story of a hero

back from the dead!

 

PART 1

 

If there had ever been a time more appropriate for the telling of this story, believe me when I say that it would have been told long ago, for so great a hero, so great a cause, has never been seen but once before on an island off the coast of western Greece in a new land, still undiscovered

            It is not my place to tell this tale, it is almost shameful to call it a tale, and not a code, a birthing place for the truth we all strive for secretly, but under the circumstances, it is as necessary as the air we breathe. One could say that my actions are hasty and unruly, but shouldn’t I be the judge? Aren’t I the one closest to the one we all wish could be telling us? Have I not been held responsible for the wrongs? Then why should I not also be celebrated for the good that has come, though little?

            I know in the depths of my heart that I shall die soon…I am very old and tired.

While history can still escape from my lips, while I am still capable, no matter what they say, I tell you that you must listen carefully. Listen carefully and perhaps our hero’s quest may be finished yet

            Sit down, child. This is a long story

            Like every great hero, the young man that stepped forth for the calling was innocent and eager to please. He did not know the great risks that would be the result of his loyal service. He did not know the risks of his loyalty. He did not know the meaning of risk. He was ignorant, but not stupid. He was rough, but not unkind. He was strong, but not overly so, and he was attractive, but not handsome

            The only reason he did what he did was for the woman, though he would not have permitted me to say so, whom he had loved in secret since his childhood. Though she was ungrateful, she was beautiful, like every princess we hear of, and desired by many men, much stronger and older than our brave young lad

            Ah, child, you shall see, do not say that I am not speaking the truth. Do not say that the tales of fairies are coming from my lips, for do not all fairy tales end in happily ever after? Hold your tongue, young one, for you cannot assume that all stories that involve a hero and a princess will end well.   Are you quite ready to let me continue? Yes… that day was a day of hope for all, and the heavens must have been hopeful as well, for the sun shone brighter than ever before and not a cloud in the sky dared intrude. A soft breeze kissed the ears of the men waiting outside of the palace, and carried the rumors already spreading, of one favored among them. Of one to look out for. Of one who would surely ruin their chances. Of one who knew nothing of war, of honor, or of courage.

            Our hero, a young apprentice of the local blacksmith, a rude, large man, told the guards that his name was Alcander, when it was not really. He had been given a common name at birth, by a common man, and was ashamed of it. His father’s name was George, and though the family farms were bountiful and the other farmers near his land were greatly idolized and respected men in society, his father was coarse and dull and knew nothing of the wars and nothing of the government and was therefore not idolized and not respected and was not a man than any father would want to marry his daughter.

            It was lucky for George, though not for his future bride, that a very poor man had come recently to his village and had a young daughter, whom he needed to marry off in order to support his aging wife and decrepit home.  Despite George’s temper and outbreaks, and his dullness exaggerated by drunkenness, the young girl gave him two sons, one of which he was very fond. The eldest was called George, after his father, and the youngest died at birth, too early to be given a name. The dead baby was thrown in the river while the girl wept and George cursed at his luck, therefore placing his hopes upon little George’s shoulders.

            As you might have guessed, child, young George is our very own Alcander.  And you may now understand that through the beatings he received as a child, the neglect, and the hatred of the townsfolk, that he was rather an outcast and therefore focused his goals toward escape from his village and promised himself that one day he would make his dead brother proud. And so he came upon the black smith and the vulnerable years of heavier beatings and greater neglect that were cast upon him.

            It was in these stages of vulnerability that Alcander found himself at the steps of the palace one rainy afternoon (mind you this is years before  the story’s real beginning), that he saw a girl in a window, with waves of black hair cascading down the palace wall, and that he fell in love. It was this same day that the girl was sent out for her lessons, by her nurse who paid for them in secret with what little money she had, and it was also this very day that young Alcander began following the filthy wagon into the bitter parts of the middle-class town.

            From within the safety of my grandfather’s house, I watched. Yes, I am in this story, though it is not about me, and I saw our Alcander watching the girl as she stepped from the wagon, as her dress got caught on the wood, as her bare leg, pale as the moon, was hurriedly covered by the nurse’s own daughter, much older than she, and how the girl was told of modesty and how throughout the rest of the day she continually brushed down her skirt though it needed it not.

            From within my safe watchtower, I saw Alcander watch that leg and watch that girl and I saw him follow the wagon back at the end of the day. It is also I who waited in the mornings for the wagon to return, for the boy to return, and for the girl to go inside, come back out, and for the day to end. It is I who snuck up on the boy and talked to him and it seemed that I was the first child he had ever talked to.

            From that afternoon, Alcander and I met in the late mornings, after the girl had gone inside, and talked the days away with tales of gods in which we secretly did not believe and of the ironies of life. It is through these days that we became knowledgeable in the ways of literature (my grandfather knew much) and of my hopes to someday be a teacher.

            I must admit, though I regret it so, that it was I who first urged Alcander to meet the girl whom we had watched for so long. It is I that helped him with his plan. It is I who botched said plan. It is I who am responsible for the bloodied Alcander that did not return again until weeks passed.

            I heard later, from a quiet, defeated boy who I was almost convinced that I had never known, that the girl was watched at all times and that those who watched her came forth and had him stripped and whipped when he laid a hand on her shoulder. ‘I shall never see her again, and it will kill me,’ he said, and I knew that I would be responsible for his death, were that the case. Yet, at so young an age as I was, I had no common sense Who can ever really call sense common? I urged him once more to overcome the depression he had fallen into and I provided him with a reason to leave my grandfather’s house while unbeknownst to him the girl was to be arriving at the home of her tutor.

            When Alcander realized what I had done, he flung his hands around my neck and threw the two of us back inside the house, beginning to yell in a tone I will never forget, a tone of hatred and fear and love stirred into a heart-ripping cry at the betrayal he was sure I had meant. He pinned me to the ground and as I struggled for breath, he saw the great fear in my eyes and retreated to the corner where he sat and sobbed, apologizing and covering his face with his trembling hands. I was confronted with the great challenge of explaining to my friend, my best friend whom I loved so dearly, that I had not meant what he had suspected and he said that he realized and he took me into his arms and we both wept in the corner for the lives we were sure, through the books we had read, had been meant for us.

            I learned that day that Alcander would make something of himself, and that I would not. I saw the passion in his eyes as he wiped the tears from mine and I knew that though he said that he should never see the girl again, it would be inevitable and I knew that, unlike before, he would not fail, for I would not fail him.

            The days flew by as, closer than ever before, we lay in the sunshine and read great tales of monsters and saviors and convinced ourselves (though I knew that I lied) that we would be the greatest saviors of all. It was in those innocent afternoons, braiding each other’s long golden hair like my grandfather had taught me, that I realized how similar we were in appearance. Alcander was larger than I and stronger than I and more defined than I, but it was apparent that we shared the same forest green eyes and shining hair, strong nose and wide mouth. It was in these memorable afternoons that I would gaze at

Alcander while he read and contemplate our lives, knowing that they would not, could not be as heroic and perfect as we forced ourselves to believe in our dreams among the flowers. It was in these afternoons, wrestling in the shade, that I felt like I had the brother, the better half of me, within my grasp, but that I was somehow letting him down by letting him win, or by giving in to tell another story.

            The day came when Alcander drew up his courage and began to talk of the girl again, that we began to watch her again. At first I was hesitant, remembering what had happened the last time we bothered with her, but I knew that this could not continue because, though I could sense his fear, Alcander’s love for this stranger was too strong to be denied. The plans came slowly; he might give her something, pretending that she had dropped it, or I , despite my protests,  would distract her guards while he spoke with her. I told him that I would do anything he asked, anything at all, despite my fears.

            The night before he decided that he would confront the girl, I held his hand against the second thoughts and told him stories of hope. My dear Alcander was too nervous to sleep so I kissed his head as he lay in my arms and I sang him songs of glory to quiet the rising doubts. I do not know now why I had been so persistent, but I realize that on that night I believed in my heart that he would only be truly happy with her.

            The following morning, we sat together to watch and wait, and I swear that I could almost hear Alcander’s heart beating. We huddled near the window and stared so intently at that house that I think anything could have happened and we would not have noticed. Our wait did not end until mid afternoon, when we decided that she would not come that day and retreated to the yard for a game. Alcander grew restless and I began to worry, not for my well being, but for his.

            The girl never came that day, and never came any day after.

            My Alcander slowly began to slip into a silent depression, and often I would find him sobbing silently when he thought no one could see. It broke my heart to see him this way, and I was not sure if I would have preferred that he had not come at all. It hurts me to say this so finally, to say that I might rather have spent time away from him, and I know in my heart that it is not the truth. I would rather have died than to have lived a life without him in it.

            Ah yes, child. The palace steps… I know you wish for me to finish what I started, but you must first understand what brought our young hero to those very stones. You must first know the history, or you will not understand what it truly meant to him and to me. Now where was I…?

            Of course… I tried to help young Alcander forget the girl and forget the disappointment and forget his broken heart, but all I managed was for him to forget his love for me. No longer did we act as brothers. No longer did we play in the yard. No longer did he come to my grandfather’s house to spend his time with me. It was during these lonely hours that I began to suspect that the only reason Alcander had ever come to visit me was to be near the girl, and I must admit that I am angry still, though I can never know if my suspicions were correct.

            Days, weeks, even months passed before I saw or heard of him again. It was a cloud ridden afternoon, in the late stages of autumn, when my grandfather alerted me of a boy at the door whom he said was ‘…in great distress, child,’ and that I had better come at once. I hurried to the door, not knowing what to expect. When Alcander’s eyes looked up into mine I nearly threw myself at him in surprise and joy, but then remembered his abandonment and felt the anger grow from within my very soul.

            ‘I have a favor to ask of you, friend,’ he uttered in a voice quieter than a whisper.

‘I am in need of shelter…I am so sorry… I have no where else to go.’ It took all I had just to hear his words, let alone comprehend them, but when I finally realized his meaning, and noticed the tears in his eyes, I forced myself to throw away my distrust and I embraced him as though we were the brothers I had for so long felt that we were.

            ‘Of course, dearest friend. How can you say that this is a favor to ask of me, when you know that you are doing me the greatest favor by asking?’ He shook in my arms and I held him tighter and brought him into the warmth of my grandfather’s house.  I do not know of any time when I felt so needed as this, and though it was a time of sorrow for him, it was one of the happiest moments of my life.

            When at last Alcander’s tears subsided and he was able to speak, I laid my hands on his shoulders and asked, ‘What has happened to you?’ He answered in a single brief sentence, ‘The blacksmith has died, and I have no home.’ If one had gone through what I had gone through, one would never have expected that such sorrow as his could come from what seemed to me such news of relief. Many afternoons had been spent cleaning wounds from the blacksmith’s barbaric temper and many evenings had been spent listening to tales of cruelty and injustice. Alcander must have seen the shock in my eyes for he added, ‘Friend Erastus, it is not his death that saddens me so, but my exile.’ And so my prodigal brother came home at last and my grandfather took him in as family and every neighbor began to associate us with one another and to expect that where one was, so too was the other.

 

            It would be idiotic to assume that life went smoothly for the two of us. I would find myself lying awake at night, startled by a sudden sound and turn to find Alcander soaked in tears from vicious nightmares that tortured him for weeks. My grandfather grew weaker and weaker as time passed and I began to worry for his health, as we could not afford a healer. Yes, life grew only more difficult after Alcander’s arrival, though I cannot blame him for it.

            Surely, I began to think, there must be something better in life than stories and dreams. The days wore on and Alcander and I grew tired of tales. It was time to make legends of our own, but we did not know a way. Never did Alcander think that one day he would be the greatest hero of all.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PART 2

 

            The news of my grandfather’s death came to me as I worked on the beach, and I cannot describe a time of greater worry, for where were Alcander and I to go? I fell to my knees in a state of shock and panic while the messenger looked on awkwardly, afraid to come too close for fear of what I might do to him. The only thing I remember of that night is rocking in Alcander’s arms while he assured me that we would find a way. I can only assume that our fortune, though small, was given to the king, and that my grandfather’s possessions were sold. I do not recall receiving anything, so I can only guess that my grandfather had not had a will.

            The next day, my brother and I were forced to leave. The neighbors shunned us. I became well aware that those who have nothing are not welcome among those with much. The poor side of town reeked of urine and waste, but it was the only place we were welcome and it was among the garbage that we stayed our first night, entwined together against the angry winds of the sea, and it is in that garbage that we found our food, the

rot that even the dogs would not eat.

            The morning sun was a much welcome guest. Alcander and I stretched our numbing toes toward the sky in search of its great warmth, though it did not come quite so readily. My work at the beach had, no doubt, been given to someone worthwhile and of a higher class and my mind ached from the stress of our ordeal and the pangs of hunger crying out and the odor of death of those like us who had been less fortunate.

            I now know that it not a coincidence that my grandfather died within the same week as the Great Invasion of the East. As news of the massacre spread, Alcander and I witnessed the great masses of men leaving the city and felt that it was our chance to leave in secret, hidden among the crowds, and to begin new lives for ourselves. We did not intend to fight in any war. No, our intentions were to use it as our cloak, to hide us and protect us. Our goal was to travel through the city, following the herds, and enter into the

West where, no doubt, work would be needed after the men had gone away. The streets were slick with the new rains, and travel was slow. Freezing gusts glued our tunics to our bodies and weakened our limbs. Hunger screamed from within us and we were lucky to get a scrap a day, at best.

            I told you that our lives were not easy. I fell sick on our journey and Alcander carried me half way, on his back. I know how hard it must have been. He was, if anything, hungrier than I and more exhausted than I and colder than I, but he gave me his only food and let me sleep as we traveled and wrapped me in his only blanket.

            Our escape finally ended during one of the worst blizzards I have ever known, during which Alcander and I could see no further than our hands and we nearly died from the cold. Barefoot and half naked, we lay down in the snow, giving up. There was no way. We had not eaten for days. We were stiff and burning from the ice ripping at our heels. The only thing either of us thought to do was to stay next to each other.  I knew that if I died then, I would die happy because I would be safe with my dearest friend.

            The next thing I remember is the dawn shining through the clouds. I remember the faint warmth of the sun. I remember Alcander softly breathing next to me. I do not remember anything else of our stay in the snow, but I do remember the rough blankets we

were wrapped in and the bitter stew (though it was the sweetest thing we had ever tasted) that we were fed and I remember the gentle crackling of a fire and soft fingers at my neck and soft voices in the distance. I remember the wave of relief that washed over me as I realized that we had lived, and I remember the loving touch that woke me out of my slumber.

            A girl faced me as I opened my eyes, squinting into the warm candlelight. Her face was plain but sweet, and she had a twinkle in her eyes and a brief flitting smile that stole my breath away. I wish I could say that our troubles had ended at our arrival at the butcher’s cottage, but I am afraid that they had only just begun. As Alcander and I slowly recovered, owing our lives to the old man in the apron and his jolly daughter, we realized that the West did not yet know of the war, due to the ferocious storms that had locked them in. To find work would be near impossible. It was not luck that the kind butcher offered us both a bed and food for helping him in his old age, but a gift from the gods. I know that without him we would not have survived.

            The old butcher started us hard at work, cleaning the blood from his floors and catching the pigs and other various animals he sold at his shop. The hard winter bore down on us with no mercy, and the animals were scarce and scrawny from lack of food, much like ourselves. We were fed enough to survive, but the butcher did not waste a crumb on us and every ounce of fat we once had turned quickly to muscle as a result of our heavy labor.

Alcander was always bolder than I, and the townsfolk favored him and the butcher’s daughter watched him and pranced when he was near and sat with her legs extended, bare ankles showing, in hopes of catching his eye. I could not help but be jealous, for though she was not beautiful, the butcher’s daughter was charming and full and I knew then how Alcander had felt as he watched the girl from my grandfather’s window.

Alas I cannot go into the details of my feelings; this story is about my brother, not me.  However, I must say that I found it unfair how Alcander led her on, for I know that he never once thought of her as more than a game. Child, love is not a game and those who treat it as such are either ignorant or cruel. I must say that Alcander was ignorant, for I cannot believe that he could ever have been cruel.  I know only that the one girl he thought of was the princess, and if he ever showed interest in Damaris, it was to tame his longing for her.

            Spring came much too quickly, and as the snow melted and the people of the village learned of the war, no longer did Alcander and I have only our work to fill our time. Soldiers came in from the East to fill their supplies with the meager amounts of food and tools the farmers could provide them. It was not until later, however, that one soldier in particular came to stay with us.

            From the moment Kozma entered our lives, everything changed. My grandfather’s death was one thing, but the soldier brought changes we had only dreamt of. ‘The king is in search of a high warrior, one who can lead my brethren to victory and bring honor to his name,’ he told Alcander one night, as the butcher slept and I pretended. ‘One such as yourself cannot be wasted in this village. Come with me to the challenge, Man, and make something of yourself.’ ‘Ay, I’ll go,’ Alcander said. I immediately sprang up in bed, .causing Alcander and Kozma to eye me warily.

            ‘Have you heard all, Erastus? Or have you newly awakened from some dreadful nightmare?’ I could feel myself scowl at Kozma and his sarcastic questions. ‘Oh, Alcander,’ I whispered at his guilty face. ‘Could you leave me again so easily, after all we have been through?’ Sweat glistened on his brow and he would not look me in the eyes. ‘Go if you must, brother. I will not stop you.’

            I know that my words brought relief to him, but Kozma found only humor. ‘As though a runt like you could have stopped us, hah! Alcander, tomorrow we leave this fool.’ I sensed the hot tears before I felt them, and I ran out of the cottage despite the brisk spring breeze. I could hear Kozma’s ringing laughter behind me, but I hoped that Alcander would come after me. Soft footsteps crunched the grass behind me. I turned and flung myself at Alcander.

            ‘Brother! Go if you must but do not forget me! Please, realize that I will be nothing without you beside me, please realize that I know only to follow you!’ Alcander pushed me away and held me at arms length. ‘Erastus, we are men now. I must make something of myself. Kozma and I leave at dawn. Do not follow us, I beg you.’ I could not believe what I heard, and I did not realize when Damaris and her father came onto the grass beside us.

            ‘Alcander!’ The butcher’s voice echoed around us in the clear night air. ‘If you plan to leave me, do so with my knowledge. If ever anyone ran away from my home, I should at the very least know of it!’ Damaris cowered at her father’s shoulder, heartbroken, I am sure.

All I could do was watch as later that night Damaris came to Alcander’s room to beg him to stay. All my heart could do was break as she held onto him as he left and sobbed for the entire village to hear. I knew that I could never measure up, yet I wanted her to be silenced because an even greater pain was inflicted upon me as my friend began his journey at Kozma’s side, and not my own.  I knew that morning that I would soon follow him, with his consent or without.

            I fear that my own emotions have clouded the truth, you see, Alcander was as heart-broken as I. I heard he and Kozma speak and I know that he feared for me and that he prevented my coming out of love. I was, as Kozma said, quite small for my age and would have been of no use in the challenge they faced.

            Though Kozma was driven by selfishness, I believe Alcander fought harder, not for himself, but for all of Greece. His desire to help others and to be like the heroes of the stories we read so long ago gave him strength far greater than ever could want of material things.

            And so I followed, and I watched from the shadows and prayed for my Alcander’s safety as he arrived at the palace steps.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

PART 3

 

                        The guards greeted the two men who marched into the city, wondering why they were so unscathed while a war raged on. The men told the guards, “We are here for the challenge, the challenge to fight.” The guards escorted them to the crowds of eager men and bloodthirsty warriors at the foot of the palace to wait.

            Kozma was well known among them, as a brutal soldier who would fight to the death, and everyone wondered at his quiet young friend, scar free and innocent. The crowds whispered rumors, tales of a god among them, for they knew no other explanation for Kozma’s association with this boy. The name Alcander flew with the wind until it at last reached the ears of the princess, who sought a husband with which she would lead her aging father’s army to victory.

            Trumpets blared as the woman set foot on the top step, and began her descent. Her long black hair flowed like a living beast, slithering behind her and wrestling with the wind. Her skin shone in the sun and her beauty blinded the soldiers at her feet. Alcander did not breathe as memories came back, memories of his love and of his punishment. He trembled as he saw her face, hard with responsibility for her men, and underneath the beauty, hidden, a deep sadness that ripped through his heart. Total silence filled the air, unearthly and riveting.

            “My loyal men,” her voice rang with authority. “Today you offer yourselves forward to be challenged.” Searching eyes cut across the crowds. “You have proclaimed yourselves willing to die, to fight to be the champion. Come forth, my men, into my arena, for the champion shall be my prince, leader of Greece’s army, and worthy of the gods.”

            She turned and the heavy doors swallowed her as the men stared, transfixed at the fleeting beauty and as they began the long march to the training grounds.

 

 

           

 

Author's Note

2nd posting, hurray for restoration!

Reviews

[lost sock]

Eegasp! You brought this back from the dead! I would love a continuation of this. I really like it! I really like the names of the characters. They make me smile. =)

[Andromeda]

i like it and i think that you could possibly turn it into something longer if you wanted to if you slowed down the pace a little. i really like your writing style; it was like you were actually telling the story.
one recommendation: on the seventh paragraph, "are you quite ready to let me continue" and "Yes..." should be made into there own smaller paragraphs